S-WEIR  MITCHELL 


THE 
GUILLOTINE  CLUB 


ALPHONSE,  THE  VALET 


THE 
GUILLOTINE  CLUB 


AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 


S.  WEIR   MITCHELL,  M.D.,  LL.D, 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
ANDRE  CASTAIGNE  AND  F.  R.  GRUGER 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1910 


Copyright,  1907,  1909,  1910,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  October^ 


CONTENTS 

FAGB 

THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB I 

THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 101 

THE  MIND-READER 141 

THE  HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH  ....  247 


282480 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Alphonse,  the  Valet Frontispiece 

PAGE 

M.  Blanchelande 7 

Captain  Merton 14 

I  am  rather  an  ascendant  than  a  descendant    .     .  22 

M.  le  Vicomte  de  Laisne 31 

An  archbishop  in  his  full  episcopal  attire   ...  41 

En  garde,  Messieurs 81 

The  Colonel       .     .     . 88 

As  he  grew  better,  he  talked  to  me  of 

my  own  life 149 

That,  he  said,  was  of  course  hopeless  .     .     .     .156 

Told  her  some  of  their  genealogies  were 

more  genial  than  logical 169 

Susan,  where  was  the  silver  kept  ? 2OI 

Good  gracious  ! 22O 

Talk  to  me.     Tell  stories.     Laugh. 

Do  anything 229 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 


THE   GUILLOTINE   CLUB 


THOSE  who  have  read  "A  Diplomatic  Ad 
venture"  are  aware  that  the  valet  Al- 
phonse,  who  effectually  aided  in  the  historic 
burglary,  was,  perhaps  with  reason,  uneasy 
as  to  the  consequences.  He  finally  decided  to 
emigrate  to  America,  where,  he  said,  his  con 
science  would  be  more  at  rest,  a  moral  inference 
with  which  my  friend  and  fellow-burglar, 
Captain  Merton,  was  much  pleased,  remarking 
"that  conscience  was  a  name  for  several 
things/' 

It  was,  however,  some  months  before  Al- 
phonse  could  persuade  Mile.  Marie  to  promise 
to  marry  and  go  among  a  people  who  were  just 
then  industriously  killing  one  another.  The 
captain's  wound  was  long  since  well.  Certain 
other  matters  in  which  he  was  interested  were 

3 


GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

prospering,  but  it  was  not  until  later  that  they 
agreeably  matured.  After  our  brilliant  suc 
cess  in  baffling  the  police  of  Paris,  I  felt  no  de 
sire  to  go  in  search  of  other  adventures,  and 
hoped  none  would  come  in  search  of  me.  I 
was  sadly  mistaken. 

One  morning  while  taking  breakfast  in  my 
little  salon,  I  said  to  Alphonse:  'There  must 
be  in  Paris  some  curious  things  strangers  do 
not  see.  You  have  been  on  the  police — you 
must  know.  I  hear  that  there  are  thieves' 
clubs,  or  rather  a  thief  club/' 

"I  believe,"  said  Alphonse,  "that  there  is  a 
club  of  thieves ;  but  it  is  very  exclusive,  and  un 
less  monsieur  should  qualify — " 

"Qualify?" 

"No  one  can  enter  who  has  not  been  in  the 
chain-gang  or  committed  some  well-known 


crime." 


"Such  as  our  burglary,  Alphonse?" 
"Not  mine,  mon  Dieu!    It  may  please  mon 
sieur  to  speak  of  it,  but  as  for  my  humble  self, 
even  when  I  go  to  confession  I  reserve  certain 
sins  until  I  am  in  America.     I  never  knew  any 

4 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

one  who  had  seen  this  club,  but — "  and  he  hesi 
tated.  "Shall  I  bring  some  more  toast?" 

I  said  no. 

"Monsieur  is  neglecting  the  omelet.  I  made 
it  myself."  He  was  as  usual  enjoying  the  im 
portance  a  half-told  story  gives. 

"I  asked  you  a  question.  The  omelet  may 
wait." 

"Pardon,  Monsieur,  an  omelet  is  one  of  the 
things  which  cannot  wait.  I  was  about  to  be 
imprudent." 

"Since  we  stole  those  papers  you  are  ab 
surdly  cautious.  Go  on." 

"There  are  other  clubs — other  strange  clubs 
— more  interesting." 

"Such  as?" 

"Has  monsieur  ever  heard  of  the  Societe  des 
Ancetres  ?" 

"Of  Ancestors?  No.  What  is  there  curi 
ous  about  that?  It  sounds  commonplace." 

Alphonse  smiled.  "For  the  members  it  is 
the  Society  of  the  Guillotine.  No  one  belongs 
to  it  who  is  not  of  the  family  of  some  one  who 
was  guillotined." 

5 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

I  questioned  him  eagerly. 

"It  is,"  he  said,  "of  course  registered, — all 
societies  must  be, — but  as  it  is  quiet  and  meets 
rarely,  the  police,  when  I  was  on  the  active 
force,  did  not  disturb  it." 

"I  should  like  to  see  it,"  I  said. 

"Perhaps  some  of  the  gentlemen  who  dine 
here  to-day  may  be  able  further  to  inform  mon 
sieur.  There  is  another  club  more  closely 
watched." 

"Ah,  and  what  is  that?" 

"It  is  the  Club  of  Jacobins." 

"What !     Here  to-day  in  France !     Hardly." 

"Yes,  Monsieur.  It  is  more  of  a  secret  so 
ciety." 

"Then  it  is  serious.     Political,  I  presume." 

"Probably.  But  it  was  a  matter  of  rumor 
when  I  was  of  the  police  that  it  contained  per 
sons  no  one  would  suspect  of  being  in  such  com 
pany." 

"And  so,"  I  said,  "it  is  let  alone  to  avoid 
scandal." 

"We  did  so  conclude.  But  of  course  there  is 
6 


M     BLANCHELANBE 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

gossip  among  the  police.  Monsieur  may  give 
up  all  idea  of  seeing  it." 

I  did  not,  and  resolved  to  speak  of  both  clubs 
at  dinner,  which  on  this  occasion  was  to  be  in 
my  own  rooms. 

I  was  on  intimate  terms  with  two  of  my  din 
ner  guests,  and  especially  with  M.  Blanche- 
lande,  a  manufacturer,  the  owner  of  great 
cloth  mills  near  Lyons.  Our  United  States 
legation  had  secured  for  him  certain  contracts 
with  our  government  which  had  proved  satis 
factory  to  the  war-office  and  profitable  to  him. 
He  was  known  to  me  as  a  quiet,  cautious,  mid 
dle-aged  man,  who  had  married  in  the  royalist 
class,  but  who  avoided  politics,  and  collected 
Palissy  ware,  snuff-boxes,  and  chatelaines. 
He  liked  my  dinners  because  of  their  freedom 
and  on  account  of  my  father's  Madeira  and  cer 
tain  American  luxuries. 

He  arrived  early  and  said:  "I  have  here, 
for  the  future  Mme.  Greville,  a  gold  chatelaine 
said  to  have  belonged  to  Mme.  de  Sevigne." 

While  I  was  admiring  it  and  saying,  "Mme. 

9 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

Possible  will  adore  it,"  Alphonse  announced 
the  Count  Andre- Joseph  de  la  Motte  and  my 
friend  Captain  Arthur  Merton,  U.  S.  Army. 
Both  men  being  army-officers, — the  count  of 
the  Imperial  Guard, — as  they  entered  they  were 
eagerly  discussing  the  value  of  cavalry  in  war. 
The  count,  a  man  of  twenty-six,  owed  his  at 
tractiveness  to  perfect  manners,  a  certain 
sweetness  of  disposition,  constant  gaiety,  and 
an  amiability  rarely  equaled.  He  was  intelli 
gent  rather  than  intellectual,  but  not  a  person 
of  much  force.  I  liked  him. 

"I  asked  your  uncle  M.  Granson  to  dine,"  I 
said  to  the  count,  "but  he  would  not  come." 

The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smil 
ing  returned:  "I  am  not  sorry.  He  is  fast 
breaking  in  mind  and  body  and  talks  danger 
ously  much  about  republics  and  the  desirability 
of  a  return  in  France  to  Jacobin  methods.  It 
is  rather  sad.  What  a  charming  chatelaine!" 
he  added,  turning  to  Blanchelande. 

As  we  stood  admiring  the  gift,  my  last  guest, 
M.  Varin,  sous-preset  of  the  Seine,  joined  us. 
The  prefect  was  one  of  the  adventurous  few 

10 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

who  come  up  out  of  the  peasant  class  to  forage 
successfully  in  the  capital.  He  looked  about 
him,  seeing  at  a  glance  who  were  present,  and 
turned  on  me  a  rosy  face,  strong  of  feature, 
but  without  distinction.  An  avocat  of  note,  a 
gay  liver,  a  pronounced  imperialist,  and  now  a 
man  of  wealth,  he  was  too  apt  to  speak  of 
having  owed  everything  to  himself,  and  had 
the  double  pride  of  former  poverty  and 
achieved  riches.  Nevertheless,  he  was  inter 
esting  because  of  a  successful  career  and  be 
cause  of  the  type  he  represented. 

Alphonse  announced,  "Monsieur  is  served," 
and  we  went  into  the  little  salon,  chatting  gaily. 
There  were  no  politics ;  a  word  about  our  war 
and  Mexico,  and  by  common  consent  we  passed 
to  safer  ground  and  talked  theaters,  actors,  the 
races,  with  at  last  a  discussion  of  French  dia 
lects,  a  favorite  study  of  mine.  My  Burgundy 
was  good,  my  father's  Madeira  highly  ap 
proved,  and  the  imported  cigar  of  the  legation 
such  as  Paris  knew  not.  I  had  no  least  idea 
that  I  was  about  to  put  a  disturbing  question, 
what  Captain  Merton  called  a  "queery."  I 

II 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

said  lightly,  during  a  pause  in  the  talk,  that  I 
was  curious  about  the  Parisian  things  stran 
gers  rarely  see  or  never  see. 

"Such  as?"  asked  the  prefect,  carelessly. 
"I  may  be  of  service.  There  are  odd  fish  and 
unfathomed  depths  in  this  great  turbulent  sea 
of  Paris.  What  are  you  curious  about?" 

"The  queer  clubs,"  I  replied.  "I  have  heard 
of  two — no,  three." 

"What  are  they?"  asked  the  count. 

"Oh,  one  I  have  heard  about  is,  I  am  told, 
the  Society  of  Ancestors." 

I  was  filling  my  glass  as  I  spoke  and,  looking 
up,  saw  that  I  had  variously  surprised  my 
guests.  The  count  was  glancing  at  Blanche- 
lande,  who  had  lifted  his  eyes  from  a  lighted 
match  just  long  enough  to  entitle  him  to  be 
justified  by  surprise  at  my  question  or  by  a 
burned  finger  in  exclaiming,  "Sacre!"  and 
then:  "Some  one  has  been  amusing  you, 
mon  cher  Greville,  with  Parisian  fables.  The 
Club  of  Ancestors!  Everybody  has  ances 
tors." 

Captain  Merton  glanced  from  one  to  another 

12. 


CAPTAIN    MEKTON 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

and,  as  he  said  later,  felt  the  social  temperature 
fall.  He  became  at  once  a  partner  in  my  curi 
osity. 

The  prefect  seemed  to  be  unconcerned  and 
somewhat  amused. 

"It  sounds  very  Chinese,"  he  remarked. 
"Ancestor-worship!  Any  folly  is  possible  in 
Paris." 

"But,"  asked  the  count,  "who  told  you  of  the 
club,  Greville?" 

I  shook  my  head,  and,  smiling,  declined  to 
answer. 

Blanchelande  laughed.  "Tell  us  ignorant 
Parisians  about  this  club.  Come,  now,  Cap 
tain  Merton,  are  you,  too,  in  the  secret?" 

The  captain  shook  his  head,  and  smoked. 

"Well,"  I  said,  not  quite  liking  this  unex 
pected  appearance  of  satirical  desire  to  be  en 
lightened — "well,  I  know  nothing  more  except 
that  in  private  this  body  is  fairly  well  known 
as  the  Society  of  the  Guillotine." 

"Cheerful,  that !"  remarked  Merton.  "Must 
some  man  or  his  ancestor  have  been  guillo 
tined  as  a  condition  of  membership  ?" 

15 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"Delightful!"  cried  Blanchelande.  "Ask 
the  prefect." 

That  official  said  gravely:  "I  am  not  in  the 
way  of  knowing  personally  anything  about  it; 
I  was  never  guillotined.  There  is  such  a  so 
ciety,  as  some  of  you  very  well  know" — 

"Oh,  really,  Prefect!"  cried  Blanchelande, 
laughing. 

Either  M.  Varin  did  not  see  that  the  subject 
was  unwelcome  or  more  likely  had  some  ma 
licious  enjoyment  in  the  discussion,  for  he 
returned : 

"Yes,  although  I  am  not  what  I  may  label 
ancestral,  I  have  heard  of  the  club.  For  my 
part,  if  I  am  anything,  I  am  rather  an  ascen 
dant  than  a  descendant." 

The  young  count  looked  at  him  with  an  ex 
pression  of  grave  surprise,  but  said  nothing, 
while  the  prefect  continued,  his  face  growing 
sterner,  "My  people  were  still  digging  the 
earth  when  our  betters  acquired  title  to  this  so 
ciety  by  the  accolade  of  the  guillotine/'  Mer- 
ton  looked  up  from  the  nut  he  was  cracking. 

"Accolade  of  the  guillotine!     I  like  that." 
16 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

Blanchelande  was  evidently  annoyed.  "How 
absurd,  Prefect!  Why  not  a  society  of  the 
hanged,  or,  rather,  to  be  accurate,  of  their  de 
scendants  ?" 

"Why  not  ascendants?  It  seems  a  rise  in 
life/'  laughed  Merton. 

"I  might  possibly  have  a  claim,"  returned  the 
prefect,  coolly.  "The  old  noblesse  took  that 
liberty  at  times  with  their  peasants.  The  guil 
lotine  was  the  answer  of  the  ages  to  the  gallows 
of  the  noble." 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke.  It  was  a 
stanch  Bonapartist  who  sat  by  me,  well  dressed, 
prim,  and  decorated  with  the  ribbon  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  It  was  a  Jacobin  in  revolt 
who  thus  broke  out.  De  la  Motte's  constant 
smile  fell  off  like  a  dropped  mask.  Blanche- 
landed  well-governed,  middle-aged  face  ex 
pressed  some  faint  disgust,  for  the  intonation 
of  the  prefect  was,  of  a  sudden,  as  that  of  a 
peasant,  rough,  aggressive,  and  his  manner 
like  a  challenge. 

To  my  relief,  Merton  broke  into  the  mo 
ment's  emphasis  of  silence.  "Thank  heaven 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

that  we  in  America  have  no  claim  to  either 
honor!" 

"You  will  not  continue  so  fortunate/'  said 
the  prefect.  "You  have  not  as  yet  history 
enough.  Just  now  you  are  doing  fairly  well, 
but  when  you  fail,  as  you  of  the  North  will, 
some  heads  may  tumble — or  even  if  Europe 
permits  you  to  win,  which  is  unlikely." 

Perhaps  my  Madeira  had  been  too  often  hon 
ored,  for  certainly  the  prefect  had  made  him 
self  unpleasant  to  every  one.  I  saw  Merton 
frown,  and  then,  catching  my  warning  look, 
resume  his  cigar  as  I  said : 

"Ah,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  how  little  you  un 
derstand  us !" 

"Let  us  drop  politics,"  said  Blanchelande. 

"As  you  like,"  murmured  the  official.  "Ex 
cuse  me,  M.  Greville." 

"Oh,  the  future  will  answer  you,"  I  re 
turned,  laughing.  The  talk  had  come  so  near 
to  perils  of  insult  that  I  was  glad  to  move  on 
and  away.  By  mishap  I  got  at  once  upon  still 
thinner  ice,  for  I  said:  "I  seem  at  least  with 
my  curiosity  to  have  excited  curiosity.  I  must 

18 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

rest  unsatisfied,  I  fear.  But  what  of  the  other 
society  I  have  heard  about?" 

"What  is  that?"  said  De  la  Motte. 

"The  Jacobin  Club." 

"Delightful!"  laughed  the  prefect.  "Better 
and  better.  I  must  tell  the  minister  of  police." 

"A  Jacobin  Club  to-day  in  Paris!"  said 
Blanchelande.  "Well!  well!  Did  ever  you 
hear  of  it,  Prefect?" 

"Never." 

I  seemed  unlucky,  and  made  haste  again  to 
shift  the  talk,  quite  sure  that  both  clubs  were 
known  to  one  or  another  of  my  guests,  and 
aware  that  my  dinner  had  not  been  a  complete 
success. 

"Try  this  other  Madeira,"  I  said;  "you  may 
like  it." 

"None  of  us,  it  seems,  appears  to  know  much 
of  your  clubs,"  said  the  prefect,  with  a  queer, 
cynic  smile;  "but  there  certainly  is  a  famous 
club  of  thieves." 

"Political,  Prefect?"  queried  Merton  in  his 
languid  after-dinner  way  of  saying  dubious 
things,  pleased  that  social  justice,  kind  to  those 

19 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

who  wait,  had  given  him  the  chance  of  retort. 

The  prefect  smiled.  "Merci,  Monsieur — 
Touched 

"Do  they  make  ballads  ?"  said  De  la  Motte. 

"They  may/5 

"This  club  is  said  to  be  as  old  as  Frangois 
Villon,"  said  Varin.  "Whether  or  not  they 
still  have  poet  thieves,  I  cannot  say." 

"Or  thieving  poets,"  added  Merton.  "They 
all  steal  from  one  another." 

I  gladly  welcomed  this  diversion  of  the  talk, 
and,  soon  after,  all  except  Blanchelande  went 
away,  gaily  chaffing  me  about  those  wonderful 
clubs. 

The  count  detained  me  a  moment  in  the  ante 
chamber,  and  said,  as  we  stood  aside:  "My 
uncle  would  not  dine  with  Blanchelande, 
Greville.  He  is,  as  you  know,  a  wild  republi 
can,  and  of  late  has  been  in  a  condition  of  senile 
irritability  and,  I  think  I  said  so,  imprudent  to 
the  last  degree." 

"And  so  that  was  it.  How  strange !  Good 
night,"  and  I  went  back  to  Blanchelande. 

As  I  sat  down,  he  said:     "Greville,  do  you 

20 


:I  AM  RATHER  AN  ASCENDANT    THAN  A  DESCENDANT 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

really  want  to  hear  more  about  those  clubs? 
Of  course,  as  you  must  have  gathered,  we  are 
all  cautious  in  our  talk.  In  these  days  of  sus 
picion  and  espionage  we  rarely  refer  elsewhere 
than  in  royalist  circles  to  the  Club  of  Ancestors, 
and  never  except  among  members  to  the  Guil 
lotine  Club.  You  could  not  know  that,  and 
your  curiosity  was  quite  natural." 

"Then  all  of  you  know  of  these  organiza 
tions?" 

"Oh,  yes.  There  is  a  Club  of  Jacobins.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  Varin  was 
a  member.  We  are  less  disposed  to  be  secret. 
You  heard  his  denial." 

"Yes ;  and  I  was  annoyed  at  the  man's  talk. 
One  does  sometimes  make  a  mistake  in  mixing 
one's  salad-dressing.  That  is  Alphonse's 
wisdom.  M.  Varin  will  not  be  in  my  next 
salad." 

Blanchelande  laughed. 

"The  vinegar  was  certainly  in  excess." 

"I  may  venture  to  ask  if  you  are  not  of  that 
Guillotine  Club?" 

"Oh,  yes;  as  are  many  French  gentlemen. 
23 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

While  little  is  said  of  it,  there  is  no  nonsense, 
no  Freemason  business.  It  is  merely  a  very 
exclusive  society,  designed  to  keep  fresh  certain 


memories." 


"I  should  like  to  see  these  clubs." 
"That  may  be  possible  for  ours,  impossible 
for  the  Jacobin.  We  now  and  then  admit 
strangers  not  Frenchmen,  and  we  once  pur 
posely  invited  the  chief  of  police.  We  have 
every  reason  to  be  thought  of  as  non-political ; 
but  nevertheless — However,  leave  it  with  me, 
and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  to  gratify  your 
curiosity.  It  might  interest  you." 

I  thanked  him,  and  we  began  to  speak  of 
other  matters. 


24 


II 

MY  dinner  was  in  October,  and  I  heard 
no    more    until    January     15,    when 
Blanchelande  called  on  me. 

He  said :  "I  have  here  an  invitation  for  you 
to  be  present  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Guil 
lotine  Club.  Pray  read  it." 

The  President  and  Council  of  the  Society  of  An 
cestors  will  be  honoured  by  the  presence  of  Monsieur 
Greville  on  the  2ist  of  January  at  half-after  nine 
A.  M.  punctually. 

"An  unusual  hour,"  said  I. 

"Yes;  but  there  is  a  reason  for  it.  I  shall 
call  for  you  in  time.  I  ought  to  say  that  you 
will  be  so  good  as  to  wear  evening  dress,  all 
black,  with  black  necktie." 

Somewhat  surprised  at  these  directions,  I 
thanked  him.  As  he  was  leaving,  he  said: 
"You  know,  my  friend,  how  much  I  owe  to  you, 

25 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

and  I  like,  therefore,  to  say  that  this  special  in 
vitation  is  unusual.  It  has  been  twice  asked 
for  in  vain  by — but  no  matter.  You  will  learn 
at  the  meeting  why  I  was  able  to  secure  it  for 
you.  I  am  sure  that  you  will  be  interested." 

At  nine,  on  January  2ist,  I  was  dressed  as 
my  friend  had  desired  me  to  be.  When  Al- 
phonse  knew  the  evening  before  what  I  re 
quired,  to  my  astonishment  he  said:  "It  is  for 
the  Royalist  club.  Monsieur  should  also  have 
black  shirt-studs  and  black  gloves.  I  ventured 
to  buy  them  this  morning." 

"Very  good,"  I  said.  "Much  obliged." 
He  evidently  knew  what  was  my  errand,  al 
though  of  this  I  had  said  nothing.  I  had  given 
up  being  amazed  at  my  valet.  I  now  supposed 
him  to  have  known  of  the  club  through  his  po 
lice  affiliations. 

"Monsieur  will  not  want  me  until  evening?" 

"No." 

"I  have  left  the  clothes  for  change,  and  the 
dinner  dress  as  usual." 

"Thanks,"  said  I.     "You  may  go." 

Presently  I  was  with  Blanchelande,  and  we 
26 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

drove  a  long  distance  through  the  Rue  Lafa 
yette.  We  turned  at  last  under  an  archway 
into  the  courtyard  of  what  seemed  to  have  been 
a  large,  two-story  chateau.  The  street  front 
was  occupied  by  shops.  The  courtyard  space 
seemed  neglected,  and  there  was  a  ruined  foun 
tain,  long  out  of  business.  Two  or  more  car 
riages  came  in  behind  us.  We  went  up  the 
steps  under  a  crumbling  scutcheon  and  through 
the  doorway.  A  servant  in  black  received  our 
cards  on  a  silver  salver.  As  I  looked  up  from 
the  plate  I  saw  that  the  attendant  was  my  own 
valet,  Alphonse.  I  was,  of  course,  surprised, 
but  neither  he  nor  I  gave  any  sign  of  recog 
nition,  and  followed  by  several  gentlemen  in 
full  mourning,  we  went  up  a  wide  stairway, 
past  a  second  servant,  to  whom  again  we  gave 
our  cards. 

Then  we  entered  a  large  room  where  heavy 
curtains  excluded  the  daylight.  Numerous 
wax  candles  set  in  sconces  afforded  a  scarce 
sufficient  illumination,  so  that  it  was  some  time 
before  I  saw  clearly  enough  to  decide  from  the 
cupids  and  roses  of  the  ceiling  that  I  was  in  the 

27 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

ball-room  of  what  had  been  a  surburban 
chateau  of  the  time  of  the  regency.  There 
was  on  one  side  a  dais  with  tables  and  chairs 
for  the  presiding  officers,  well  lighted  with 
large  candelabra.  Behind  the  dais  two  crossed 
flags  draped  with  black  bore  the  arms  and 
lilies  of  the  Bourbons. 

As  we  moved  into  view,  all  present  rose  and 
bowed  to  Blanchelande,  who,  returning  the 
salute,  said  to  me,  "Sit  here,"  and  went  on  to 
the  dais,  where  he  took  the  chair  as  presiding 
officer.  Several  minutes  passed  in  silence,  and 
then  he  said:  "Close  the  doors.  It  is  ten 
o'clock.  There  will  be  no  more  admissions." 

During  the  interval  of  quiet,  I  had  begun  to 
use  my  eyes,  and  saw  in  the  first  row  of  chairs 
several  whom  I  knew,  and,  not  to  my  surprise, 
the  Count  de  la  Motte.  As  I  leaned  forward 
to  look,  I  was  sure  that  the  recognition  was 
mutual. 

The  absolute  silence,  the  air  of  gravity,  and 
the  dark  figures  of,  as  I  guessed,  three-score 
gentlemen,  set  me  to  marveling.  At  this  mo 
ment  Blanchelande  rose.  He  said :  "I  hereby 

28 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

declare  open  upon  this  2ist  day  of  January, 
1864,  the  fiftieth  annual  meeting  of  the  society 
of  gentlemen  members  of  whose  families  died 
by  the  guillotine.  I  have  the  honor  to  present 
as  a  guest  M.  Greville  of  the  American  Lega 
tion,  invited  for  reasons  satisfactory  to  the 
council.  Gentlemen,  M.  Greville." 

The  entire  assembly  rose,  bowed,  and  re 
mained  standing.  I  returned  the  courtesy. 
Blanchelande  laid  his  watch  on  the  table  and 
waited.  The  stillness  was  complete. 

In  a  low  but  distinct  voice  the  president  said : 
"As  the  grandson  of  Victor-Andre  Blanche 
lande,  sometime  governor  of  St.  Domingo,  the 
first  victim  of  the  guillotine,  on  this  2ist  day 
of  January  I  announce  to  you  the  approach  of 
the  hour  of  the  murder  of  Louis  XVI,  King  of 
France."  He  spoke  slowly  as  he  added,  glanc 
ing  at  his  watch :  "Now  the  King  ascends  the 
scaffold."  He  paused.  "Now  the  King 
kneels.  Now" — and  again  he  paused — "it  is 
twenty  minutes  after  ten  o'clock.  The  King  is 
dead." 

There  was  a  faint  stir  as  of  controlled  emo- 
29 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

tion,  and  I  heard  from  all  present  the  words, 
"God  rest  his  soul  I"  For  a  moment  there  was 
silence  and  all  resumed  their  seats. 

Then  Blanchelande  said :  "It  is  our  custom 
to  call  next  the  roll  of  members,  who  will  re 
spond  for  those  of  their  family  who  died  by  the 
guillotine." 

"They  will  come  forward  in  turn,  and  com 
memorate  by  their  presence  and  their  answers 
the  unfailing  remembrance  by  the  gentlemen  of 
France  of  those  of  their  order  who  died  for  the 
cause  of  their  rightful  monarch.  His  Grace 
the  secretary  will  now  honor  us  by  calling  the 
roll." 

What  I  next  saw  and  heard  impressed  me  as 
few  scenes  in  my  life  have  done.  On  the  right 
of  the  president  rose  an  archbishop  in  his  full 
episcopal  attire.  In  a  clear  voice  he  read  from 
a  roll  in  his  hand,  "M.  Victor-Andre  Blanche 
lande." 

The  president  stood  up.  "I  answer  for  my 
ancestor,  the  first  victim  of  the  guillotine,  April 

9>  I793-" 

As  the  roll  went  on  with  name  after  name 

30 


M.  LE  VICOMTE  DE  LAISNE 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

of  the  French  noblesse,  at  each  summons  a  man 
came  forward  and  gave  the  date  of  the  death 
and  the  name  of  some  relative.  I  listened  with 
intense  interest  and  something  like  awe  to  this 
impressive  ceremony  so  remote  from  the  every 
day  life  of  gay  Paris. 

One  old  man  murmured :  "Le  Marquis,  la 
Marquise,  et  Mile,  de  Beauchastel,"  and  I 
heard,  "Father,  mother,  sister,  guillotined  on 
the  3d,  5th,  and  gth  of  May,  1793."  Then  with 
bent  head  he  tottered  away  to  his  chair.  And 
the  list  went  on,  with  titles  old  in  story,  with 
names  famous  in  history. 

I  heard  De  la  Motte  reply  for  his  ancestor, 
and  then  another  and  another,  while  in  the 
hush  of  the  dimly  lighted  room  the  summoning 
voice  of  the  prelate  rose,  or  fell  to  low  notes  as 
something  in  the  answers  left  him  emotionally 
disturbed. 

At  the  last  he  read,  "M.  le  Vicomte  de 
Laisne."  An  aged  gentleman,  very  feeble  and 
evidently  blind,  came  forward,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  a  younger  man.  His  voice  was  scarce 
audible  as  he  said,  "I  appear  for  Mile,  de  Mar- 

33 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

san,  dead — "  he  hesitated — "dead  on — "    he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten;  it  was  painful— 
"dead  on — on  the  gth  of  the  month  Floreal, 

1794." 

I  understood  the  low  murmur  of  pity  and 
surprise.  In  this  terrible  recall  of  a  day  of 
sorrow  he  had  stumbled  in  his  failing  memory 
upon  the  Revolutionary  name  of  the  month  of 
May.  A  gentleman  beside  me  said  in  a  whis 
per:  "He  was  to  have  married  her.  He  is 
nearly  a  century  old."  It  seemed  to  bring  very 
near  to  me  this  tragic  history. 

As  I  sat  and  now  and  again  caught  sound 
of  the  roar  of  traffic  without,  the  complex  note 
of  the  great  city,  my  thoughts  were  disturbed 
by  Blanchelande's  voice.  "It  is  now  time/'  he 
said,  "that  we  hold  our  private  meeting  and 
receive  the  report  of  the  council.  I  must  ask, 
therefore,  that  the  guest  who  honors  us  with 
his  presence  will  withdraw."  On  this,  again, 
all  present  stood  up,  and  bowing  to  the  chair 
and  to  the  assembly,  I  left  the  room.  At  the 
foot  of  the  stair  I  received  from  Alphonse  my 

34 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

hat  and  coat,  and  returned  home  to  change  my 
dress. 

At  breakfast  next  day  I  said :  "I  am  much 
obliged,  Alphonse,  by  what  you  said  to  me  in 
regard  to  these  clubs.  It  was  well  worth  while 
to  see  that  ceremony;  but  how  do  you  chance 
to  serve  there  ?" 

"It  was  not  chance,  Monsieur.  My  grand 
father  was  the  servant  of  the  Baron  de  Lor  me, 
and  because  he  aided  his  master  to  escape  was 
guillotined.  The  meetings  are  rare,  and  while 
I  remain  in  France  they  will  not  interfere  with 
my  service." 

I  reassured  him,  and  then  said:  "But  what 
of  the  Jacobin  Club?  I  should  like  to  see  it 
also." 

Alphonse  seemed  disturbed.  "They  are  not 
of  monsieur's  class.  They  would  not  interest 
him.  It  is  not  quite  safe." 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  it  will  not  interest 
me.  As  to  safety,  nonsense!  Come,  now, 
how  can  I  manage  it?" 

"But  they  admit  no  strangers." 
35 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"You  seem  to  know  their  ways." 

"Yes.  With  some  years  of  police  service, 
one  learns  many  things;  but  this  is  impossible 
to  be  done." 

I  was  intent  to  learn  something  of  this  other 
club,  and  when  I  rode  in  the  Bois  that  after 
noon  with  De  la  Motte,  I  said:  "What  is 
known  of  this  Club  of  Jacobins  ?  I  mentioned 
it  the  other  day  at  dinner,  and  all  of  you  shut 
up,  as  we  say,  like  clams.  There  is  such  a 
club,"  I  persisted. 

"Then  you  know,  mon  ami,  as  mucK  of  it  as 
I  do.  What  a  charming  mees !  How  well  she 
rides!" 

"Yes;  an  American,"  I  said,  as  I  bowed  to 
her.  As  we  rode  on  I  said,  "Why  were  you  all 
so  silent  about  your  Royalist  club?" 

"My  dear  Greville,  we  could  not  discuss  it 
before  Varin.  He  would  not  understand,  or 
might  have  made  himself,  in  fact  did  make  him 
self,  unpleasant.  The  club  is  rather  a  private 
association  than  an  ordinary  society,  and  the 
memories  it  consecrates  and  revives  are  just 
such  as  we  do  not  talk  of  lightly  even  thus  far 

36 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

away  from  their  realities.  You  must  have 
seen  how  solemn  a  thing  it  was." 

"I  did  indeed.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  But 
about  the  Jacobin  Club  ?" 

"Oh,  about  that.  There  is  such  a  club,  but 
of  it  I  know  nothing  except  that  it  exists  and 
that  there  is  an  old  and  serious  feud  between 
our  society  and  this  nest  of  Jacobins.  You 
may  be  sure  you  will  never  see  the  inside  of 
the  Jacobins." 

"Indeed,  I  will  bet  you  a  dinner  at  Magny's 
that  I  shall  be  present  at  a  meeting  of  the  Jaco 
bin  Club." 

"Done,"  he  said.  "You  are  a  very  obstinate 
man.  Well,  the  Corton  Vieux  is  good  at 
Magny's.  Shall  we  gallop?" 

Two  days  later  I  said  to  Alphonse,  "Is  that 
Jacobin  Club  active?" 

"Yes,  of  late,  or  so  my  cousin  of  the  police 
tells  me.  It  is  an  old  society,  and  when  I  was 
on  the  force  there  was  at  the  central  bureau 
a  list  of  its  members.  I  was  once  ordered  to 
shadow  two  of  whom  little  was  known.  Why, 
under  the  empire,  it  is  allowed  at  all,  some  one 

37 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

in  power  knows.  If  monsieur  is  set  on  a  dif 
ficult  matter,  I  might  mention  that  any  very 
violent  republican  might  assist." 

I  did  not  know  any  one  to  whom  I  could  or 
would  apply. 

I  had  that  day  to  see  M.  Blanchelande,  who, 
like  me,  was  boldly  buying  our  government 
bonds,  much  to  his  future  profit.  After  a 
word  about  a  recent  contract  and  mode  of  ship 
ment,  I  said  how  profoundly  impressed  I  had 
been  by  the  tragic  roll-call  I  had  heard.  Then 
I  added,  "About  that  Jacobin  Club,  I  should 
like  to  see  it.  I  have  a  bet  with  M.  de  la  Motte 
that  I  shall  visit  that  club/' 

"You  may  as  well  pay.  If  you  are  in  ear 
nest,  ask  M.  Granson,  La  Motte's  uncle.  He 
is  a  silly,  old,  maundering  republican.  He  is 
just  as  like  as  not  to  be  a  member ;  but  keep  me 
out  of  the  matter,  and  stay  out  yourself,  my 
friend." 

"Of  course  I  shall  not  use  your  name ;  and  as 
for  myself,  I  do  not  see  what  risk  I  run." 

"Only  such  risks  as  a  diplomatist  ought  not 
to  run.  None  of  your  legation  is  altogether 

38 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

persona  grata.  A  word  from  the  police,  and 
you  may  be  sent  home,  to  my  regret." 

He  was  quite  right,  but  curiosity  is  with  me 
an  appetite  which  is  not  very  respectful  of  ad 
vice.  I  resolved  to  see  M.  Granson. 

When  I  found  the  old  gentleman  in  question 
at  his  apartments,  I  saw  at  once  that,  as  his 
nephew,  the  count,  had  told  me,  he  was  ap 
proaching  his  dotage.  I  lost  no  time,  but  said, 
"M.  Granson,  you  are,  I  believe,  a  prominent 
member  of  the  Club  of  Jacobins."  I  supposed 
that  he  would  deny  it. 

"I  am/'  he  said;  "I  am  proud  to  say  I  am. 
Some  day  it  will  make  itself  felt." 

"I  should  like  to  see  this  club." 

"See  it,  Monsieur — see  it?  You  never  can, 
unless  you  are  a  Jacobin."  He  cackled  thin, 
aged  laughter. 

Then  I  said,  seeing  a  way  open,  "I  am  not  a 
Jacobin,  but  my  grandfather  was." 

"What !  How  can  that  be  ?"  He  laid  down 
the  paper-cutter  with  which  he  had  been  toy 
ing,  and  sat  up  in  his  chair,  attentive. 

"Yes,"  said  I;  "in  1792  there  were  twenty 

39 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

Jacobin  Clubs  in  America.  One,  in  Charles 
ton,  South  Carolina,  was  affiliated  with  the 
Jacobin  Club  of  Paris.  My  grandfather  lived 
for  a  time  in  Charleston,  and  was  a  member  of 
this  club."  I  did  not  say  that  his  Federalist 
sons  were  by  no  means  proud  of  it.  "I  have  at 
home  in  America  his  certificate  of  member 
ship." 

He  was  at  once  enthusiastic.  "Then,  mon 
ami,  it  may  be  done.  The  case,  your  case  is 
unique.  Leave  it  with  me.  I  shall  fail,  I  fear, 
but  I  have  influence,  great  influence.  I  gladly 
do  much  to  sustain  the  club ;  and  to  feel  that  we 
have  allies  in  America  is  most  helpful.  We 
must  correspond  with  that  club." 

I  said,  with  all  the  gravity  I  could  command, 
that  just  now,  in  this  year  1864,  it  would  be 
difficult;  that  we  had  found  it  as  yet  hard  to 
get  our  own  mail  into  Charleston,  on  account 
of  certain  prejudices. 

This  seemed  to  revive  his  mind,  for  he  re 
turned:  "Oh,  yes.  Now  I  remember — a 
good  joke  that.  Prejudices!  You  shall  hear 


soon." 


40 


IIS  Fl/LL  EPISCOPAL  ATTIRE 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

I  went  away,  leaving  him  to  consider  the 
joke  with  his  meek  smile  of  aging  mirth.  The 
red  eyes,  the  uncertainly  balanced  head,  the 
look  of  senile,  complacent  satisfaction,  I  car 
ried  away  as  a  momentary  memory,  and,  too, 
some  unpleasant  doubt  concerning  the  pro 
priety  of  using  the  weakness  of  a  man  in  his 
condition  in  order  to  satisfy  mere  curiosity. 

I  heard  no  further  until,  in  February,  I  re 
ceived  this  letter : 

Plumose  9. 
DEAR  CITIZEN: 

I  have  succeeded.  Your  claim  to  be  of  us  is  ad 
mitted,  and  excited  great  interest.  I  vouched  with 
pleasure  for  your  Jacobin  descent.  I  regret  that  you 
were  not  with  us  at  our  annual  meeting  on  the  second 
of  the  month  of  Pluviose,  being  January  2ist.  We 
celebrate  that  as  the  day  when  justice  was  done  upon 
Louis  Capet,  the  enemy  of  the  republic.  On  the  nth 
of  March  I  shall  call  for  you  at  eleven  in  the  morning. 

Yours,  etc., 

Eugene  Granson. 

THere  was  in  this  letter  enough  cause  for  re 
flection.  Had  I  known  at  the  time  that  this 
club  was  attracting  the  closer  attention  of  the 

43 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

police,  I  might  have  taken  Blanchelande's  ad 
vice,  and  hesitated  in  regard  to  attending  a 
meeting.  I  did  accept,  however,  and  out  of 
this  arose  some  unlooked-for  consequences. 


Ill 

AN  omnibus  took  M.  Granson  and  me  far 
into  the  Quartier  St.  Denis.  Alighting, 
we  passed  through  a  small  tobacco  shop  into  a 
walled  space  behind  it.  Thence  we  entered  an 
unused  factory,  where,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
stood  two  persons  in  ordinary  dress.  One,  to 
my  surprise,  was  an  avocat  used  at  times  by 
our  own  legation.  He  made  no  sign  of  recog 
nition.  My  companion  said:  "This  is  M. 
Greville.  Permit  him  to  pass."  They  made 
way  in  silence.  The  second  man  gave  us  each 
a  tricolored  cockade,  which,  imitating  Granson, 
I  set  on  my  coat. 

With  other  generally  well-dressed  persons 
we  went  up-stairs,  Granson  saying  to  me,  "The 
password  is  Robespierre."  I  heard  it  with  a 
sudden  sense  of  the  quality  of  the  club.  At  a 
door  on  the  second  floor  a  plainly  clad  man 
stopped  us.  "The  word,"  he  said. 
3  45 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"Robespierre,"  replied  Granson.  I  repeated 
it. 

"Couthon,"  returned  the  guard.     "Pass  on." 

I  remembered  to  have  read  of  Couthon  as 
one  of  the  most  atrociously  cruel  of  the  Revo 
lutionists. 

At  once  we  were  in  a  large,  plain,  well- 
lighted  room  with  many  windows.  Here  were 
seated  quite  a  hundred  men,  not  any,  I  thought, 
of  the  mechanic  class.  One  or  two  faces  I  had 
seen  before.  It  was  plain,  however,  that  it  was 
neither  a  simple  bourgeois  assembly  nor  made 
up  of  such  as  I  expected  to  see. 

Over  the  seat  of  the  president  was  the  tri 
color  and  the  red  cap  of  the  old  republic.  I 
sat  down  with  Granson  and  looked  about  me. 
The  president  took  his  chair,  and  I  knew  him 
at  once  as  a  noted  republican.  He  said,  "Call 
the  roll."  A  secretary  did  so,  and  as  one 
after  another  responded  I  recognized  some  as 
opponents  of  the  empire  and  wondered  that 
they  were  thus  allowed  to  meet.  In  fact,  it 
was  a  registered  club,  as  it  had  to  be,  but  un- 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

der  the  name  of  the  Historical  Society.  That 
it  had  ulterior  purposes  I  was  sure. 

My  next  surprise  followed  upon  the  an 
nouncement  of  my  presence  and  of  my  election 
as  an  honorary  member  by  the  council,  the 
name  of  my  voucher,  and  of  my  claim  to  be  a 
Jacobin.  It  excited  much  attention,  as  evi 
dently  unusual. 

"Citizen  Greville,"  said  the  president,  "is 
therefore  a  non-resident  honorary  member." 
A  member,  indeed!  I  was  anything  but 
pleased.  It  was  vain  to  remonstrate.  I  kept 
my  seat,  and  no  more  seemed  to  be  expected  of 
me.  There  were  no  such  courtesies  as  in  the 
Royalist  club. 

"Very  gratifying,"  murmured  Granson. 
"All  here,  or  nearly  all,  are  descendants  of  the 
men  of  the  Revolution.  I  congratulate  you." 

The  president,  still  standing,  said:  "The 
latest  newly  elected  member,  Citizen  Joseph, 
will  now  rise.  Citizen  Joseph.  His  sponsor 
is  Citizen  Granson." 

Granson  looked  a  little  bewildered  as  he 
47 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

stood  up  and  said:  "I  have  paid  his  dues  for 
him,  but,  to  his  regret,  he  is  not  able  to  attend 
to-day.  He  will  come  to  the  next  meeting,  this 
Citizen  Joseph."  He  chuckled  feebly  as  he  sat 
down. 

"Citizen  Joseph,  the  last  elected  member,  is 
excused/'  said  the  president.  "He  must  be 
present  at  the  next  meeting." 

"Oh,  he  will  come,"  said  Granson. 

The  president  then  went  on  at  some  length 
to  say  there  was  other  business,  and  that  he 
had  learned  with  concern  that  the  police  were 
giving  too  much  attention  to  the  club.  He 
therefore  warned  all  present  to  be  cautious,  and 
said  that  the  council  would  as  usual  conduct 
such  affairs  as  needed  immediate  attention. 
The  club  would  not  meet  for  some  time,  and 
would  then  be  called  by  trusty  messengers  to 
reassemble  in  another  place.  Men  near  me 
whispered  to  one  another,  and  seemed  dis 
turbed  by  this  announcement.  An  adjourn 
ment  was  moved  and  there  was  evidently  a 
desire  to  get  away. 

Granson  went  with  me  to  the  courtyard, 

48 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

where  he  detained  me  while  he  talked  loudly  of 
matters  concerning  which  prudent  people  in 
those  days  did  not  talk  at  all.  At  last,  while 
trying  to  release  myself  on  the  plea  of  an  en 
gagement,  he  said  to  me,  "Did  you  hear  about 
Citizen  Joseph  ?  I  thought  you  would  know." 

"How  should  I?" 

"Ask  him,  Citizen ;  ask  him."  I  had  no  least 
idea  of  what  he  meant,  but  concluding  that  the 
excitement  of  the  meeting  had  entirely  upset 
an  ill-balanced  mind,  I  said,  "Adieu,  Mon 


sieur." 


"A  bas  les  Messieurs!"  he  cried  after  me. 
"Citizen,  congratulate  Citizen  Joseph." 

Looking  back,  I  saw  the  old  man  shaking 
with  rhythmic  giggling,  an  unwholesome  par 
ody  of  healthy  laughter. 

As  the  Jacobins  passed  out,  he  went  on  talk 
ing.  One  or  two  smiled,  but  others,  ill  pleased, 
looked  at  him  gravely.  As  for  myself,  I  felt 
that  I  had  paid  too  much  for  the  gratification 
of  a  curiosity  without  reasonable  cause. 

Some  days  went  by  before  there  were  any 
sequels  to  my  recently  acquired  knowledge  of 

49 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

clubs.  Meanwhile  my  valet  was  in  an  unusual 
condition  of  rather  melancholy  silence. 

One  day,  while  I  was  eating  my  breakfast, 
Alphonse  said,  "Monsieur  will  excuse  me,  but 
he  has  seen  the  Club  of  Jacobins/' 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Because  monsieur  has  ceased  to  talk  of  it, 
and  because,  also,  he  was  seen  by  the  police  to 
enter  with  M.  Granson." 

I  did  not  like  it.  "Here,"  thought  I,  "is  con 
sequence  number  one."  "Oh,  is  that  all?"  I 
remarked  lightly. 

"No,  Monsieur.  My  cousin  of  the  police, 
who  was  to  report  on  the  meeting,  has  lost  his 
memory,  and  monsieur  has  unfortunately  mis 
laid  three  napoleons." 

"Take  them  out  of  my  porte-monnaie  there 
on  the  desk." 

"Thanks,  sare."  He  now  and  then  ventured 
upon  English.  "May  I  beg  monsieur  to  be 
satisfied  and  go  no  more  to  such  clubs  ?  Mon 
sieur  is  aware  that  I  am  soon  to  marry  and  go 
to  America.  The  coming  of  marriage  does 
sober  a  man,  and  I  know  not  who  will  care  for 

SO 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

monsieur  when  I  leave  him  to  the  Captain 
Merton,  who  is  a  boy  for  mischief." 

When  Alphonse  was  serious,  he  stayed  be 
hind  my  chair ;  when  he  became  humorous,  he 
moved  into  view. 

I  said  that  he  might  be  at  ease;  that  for  a 
time  at  least  I  had  had  enough  of  clubs,  and 
not  even  a  marriage  club  would  tempt  me. 

"Ah,"  he  laughed,  "the  Two  Club— the  mar 
riage  club."  And  now  he  came  around  the 
table  with  some  manual  excuse  of  his  perfect 
service.  "I  have  given  up  the  police,  Mon 
sieur.  Of  course  I  reported  monsieur's  visit 
at  the  Society  of  Ancestors.  It  was  of  no  mo 
ment.  Now  I  give  up.  I  have  resigned. 
Marriage  is  quite  police  enough  for  me.  The 
dear  women,  are  they  not  all  spies?"  And 
then  in  his  odd  English  he  added,  "It  gives  to 
think,  Monsieur." 

"Certainly,"  I  said.     "Circumstances  ?" 

"Ah,  since  I  had  the  honor  to  rob  a  house 
with  monsieur,  I  use  not  any  more  that  good 
word  which  so  much  explains.  I  use  it  no 
more.  I  am  become  exact." 

Si 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"There  is  the  bell,"  I  said. 

"Dame!  It  is  the  Captain  Merton.  First 
he  skirmishes  with  the  bell,  then  it  is  war,  and 
the  apartment  resounds.  I  go." 

The  American  entered  with  M.  de  la  Motte, 
Merton  with  his  queer  look  of  latent  joy  at 
having  found  something  worthy  of  attention  in 
the  life  he  called  dull.  The  French  officer's 
face  had  lost  its  constant  smile. 

"You  are  late  if  you  want  breakfast,"  I  said. 

"No,"  said  Merton,  as  he  stood  rolling  a 
cigarette;  "our  friend  De  la  Motte  is  in  trou 
ble.  I  could  dispose  of  it  easily,  but  for  him, 
as  he  sees  it,  it  is  more  than  grave,  and  I  have 
brought  him  here  that  we  might  consider  the 
matter  from  his  point  of  view." 

"Very  good,"  I  said;  "sit  down.  I  am  due 
at  the  legation  at  noon.  Until  then  I  am 
yours." 

"Go  on  and  tell  him,"  said  Merton. 

De  la  Motte,  declining  a  cigar,  said :  "You 
who  are  my  friend  know  of  my  engagement  to 
Mile.  Granson,  my  cousin.  You  know,  too, 
her  father,  who  we  think  is  becoming  insane 

52 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

and  giving  quite  too  much  money  to  some  low 
kind  of  democratic  club." 

"Possibly  Jacobin,"  I  said  gaily. 

"Ah,  my  bet." 

"Yes,  I  went  there  with  M.  Granson." 

"Did  you?     Indeed!"     Then  he  paused. 

"At  your  service,"  I  said.     "Go  on." 

"My  uncle  told  me  to-day  with  the  delight 
of  a  child  that  he  had  had  me  elected  a  mem 
ber  of  his  sacre  Jacobin  Club,  had  generously 
paid  my  dues,  and  expected  me  to  attend  their 
next  meeting." 

"Good  heavens !"  I  said. 

"Yes;  if  it  is  known,  I  am  ruined.  I,  an 
officer  of  the  Emperor's  Guard,  and  my  aunt 
the  marquise,  whose  heir  I  am !  When  I  said 
these  obvious  things  to  this  old  fool,  he  said  of 
course  he  couldn't  think  of  making  trouble: 
I  was  quite  safe :  he  had  nominated  me  by  my 
baptismal  name." 

"What!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Ah,  mon  ami  Greville,  behold  me  as  Citizen 
Joseph,  a  Jacobin." 

Then  I  remembered.  This  club  business 
53 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

was  to  be  lasting;  my  own  case  was  bad 
enough. 

"I  am  domiciled,  it  seems.  He  was  cunning, 
and  gave  my  address  as  No.  9,  rue  de  Beau- 
liere,  his  own  hotel.  It  is  atrocious,  hideous! 
— this  crazy  old  man  and  his  Jacobin  Club." 

"Yes,  I  was  there/'  I  returned. 

"You  really  saw  this  den  of  animals  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did.  I  won  my  bet,  and  I  am  sorry 
I  did.  I  heard  this  feeble  old  man,  your  uncle, 
say  M.  Joseph  could  not  be  present,  but  at  an 
other  meeting  would  have  the  honor." 

"Nom  de  chien,  honor!  I  told  him  I  never 
would  go,  that  it  is  a  fraud.  He  was  furious. 
Good-by  to  everything.  It  is  adieu  to  my  in 
come  and  to  my  aunt' s  estate  and  my  cousin." 

The  note  of  despair  in  the  voice  of  a  young, 
handsome,  gallant  man  was  too  much  for  Mer- 
ton's  social  charity.  "Confound  it,  man,"  he 
cried,  as  he  rose  to  give  emphasis  to  his  advice, 
"what  kind  of  people  are  you  in  France?  Run 
away  with  the  girl.  Give  up  this  Bonaparte 
service.  Go  to  America.  Make  a  fortune." 
It  was  impossible  not  to  laugh,  and  we  did,  but 

54 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

Merton  said  indignantly:  "I  am  in  earnest. 
I  don't  jest  about  women.  It  seems  to  me  all 
very  simple." 

"Simple!"  said  De  la  Motte.  "Ma  foi,  is  it, 
indeed.  The  old  man  will  talk.  A  single 
careless  word,  my  real  name,  and  no  one  will 
believe  that  M.  Joseph  is  not  a  safe  cover 
willingly  assumed.  It  is  ruin — ruin." 

I  said  to  Merton:  "Our  friend  is  right. 
He  is  in  a  false  position  and,  as  a  member  of 
the  Guillotine  Club,  he  is  in  a  doubly  false  situ 
ation.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  the  police 
are  just  now  uneasy  about  this  Jacobin  Club, 
or  so  I  hear." 

"Alphonse  ?"  queried  Merton. 

"Yes,  Alphonse." 

"I  wish  they  might  be  more  attentive,"  re 
turned  Merton.  "That  would  burst  the  whole 
circus.  We  came  to  consult  you,  Greville ;  but 
really  I  see  nothing  to  do  except  to  wait." 

"No ;  you  are  right.  There  will  be  no  meet 
ing  for  months,  and  before  that  the  police  may 
'call  them/  as  we  say  at  home." 

"It  is  blissfully  funny,"  laughed  Merton. 

55 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

There  was  no  fun  in  it  for  the  young  count. 
He  loved  the  cavalry,  the  girl,  and  his  aunt's 
estate.  All  three  were  in  peril.  "I  wish  some 
one  would  shoot  me,"  he  said. 

"Come  over  and  join  our  cavalry.  You  will 
have  a  fair  chance  of  being  shot." 

"I  may,"  said  the  count,  and  went  away 
despondent,  leaving  us  alone. 

"He  is  a  trifle  disgusting,  that  young  man," 
said  the  captain.  "He  comes  to  see  me  every 
day  or  two  and  wants  advice.  I  like  him,  but 
one  can't  vary  the  dose  of  advice,  and  so,  to 
have  a  consulting  doctor,  I  brought  him  to  you, 
and  now  you  also  tell  him  to  wait." 

"What  else  is  there?     It  is  rather  hard." 

"Oh,  worse  than  hard.  The  old  man  actu 
ally  told  him  that  he,  De  la  Motte,  had  author 
ized  him  to  nominate  him  as  M.  Joseph.  It  is 
of  course  a  delusory  belief  on  the  part  of  an 
insane,  cunning  old  man  with  an  inventive 
memory — " 

"Inventive  memory  is  good,"  I  said.  "What 
our  friend  dreads,  what  most  Frenchmen 

56 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

would  fear,  is  the  laughter  of  Paris,  and  Paris 
would  laugh/' 

For  two  days  I  was  busy  at  the  legation; 
then  came  a  note. 

I  must  see  you  to-night.     Will  call  with  the  count 
at  ten.    There  is  a  delightful  tangle. 

Yours, 

Arthur  Merton. 


57 


IVi 

AT  the  time  named,  my  two  friends  ap 
peared.  The  count  sat  down,  saying, 
"Be  so  good  as  to  tell  M.  Greville  the  new  and 
hopeless  situation  in  which  my  uncle's  insane 
folly  has  placed  me." 

I  fancied  that  the  captain  rather  enjoyed  the 
task  thus  assigned.  "I  can  make  it  short." 

"Not  too  short,"  I  said. 

"Well,  it 's  ancient  history.  Somewhere 
about  1814  the  Royalists  founded  this  Society 
of  Ancestors.  How  could  there  be  a  Soci 
ety  of  Ancestors?  Ghosts  of  the  guillotine  it 
seems.  Well,  soon  afterward,  the  descendants 
of  Jacobins  must  have  a  club.  The  Royalists 
met  on  the  day  of  the  death  of  Louis  XVI. 
Messieurs  the  Jacobins  chose  that  day  to  re 
joice.  This  got  out.  There  was  a  challenge, 
and  some  one  killed,  which  did  not  make  for 

58 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

peace.  Then  other  duels  resulted.  Somehow 
without  being  accepted  as  part  of  the  societies' 
duties,  there  grew  up  the  lovely  custom  of 
limiting  this  permanent  row  to  one  encounter 
annually.  Then  for  years  this  beautiful  cus 
tom  lapsed,  or  the  two  clubs  at  times  fell  away, 
and  then  again  became  lively,  when,  as  of  late, 
some  outside  social  difference  or  some  word  of 
Jacobin  insult  revived  the  custom.  Interest 
ing,  isn't  it?" 

"How  amazing,"  I  said,  "and  how  well 
guarded!" 

"Yes,  with  extreme  care.  Now  for  a  year 
or  two  there  have  been  these  singular  duels; 
but  as  neither  club  desires  to  be  much  en  evi 
dence,  they  are  formally  managed  and  ar 
ranged,  but  have  been  of  late  serious  pistol 
affairs.  Is  n't  it  splendid?" 

"It  is  stupid  nonsense,"  I  replied. 

"Wait  a  little.     There  is  more  and  better." 

"Mon  Dieu,  better!"  groaned  the  count. 
"He  said  better!  This  morning  my  Uncle 
Granson  forwarded  to  me  this  official  letter, 
addressed  to  M.  Joseph.  I  presume,  as  it  was 

4  59 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

not  open,  that  he  does  not  know  of  its  contents. 
Now,  read  that/' 

"It  is  immense/'  murmured  my  captain. 
"No  adjective  describes  it." 

His  unconcealed  joy  over  the  situation  evi 
dently  annoyed  the  man  most  concerned. 
"Oh,  read  it!  Read  it!"  he  exclaimed.  I  did. 

The  Council  of  the  Club  of  the  Jacobins  in 
forms  Citizen  Joseph  that,  in,  accordance  with  cus 
tom,  as  the  last-elected  Jacobin,  he  will  arrange  a 
non-political  occasion  of  insult  to  enable  him  as  our 
representative,  to  meet  the  citizen  named  in  the  sealed 
inclosure  from  the  challenging  Society  of  the  Guillo 
tine.  Citizen  Joseph*  will  without  delay  contribute 
whatever  is  needed  to  bring  about  a  hostile  meeting. 
His  name  and  address  have  as  a  matter  of  form  been 
sent  to  the  secretary  of  the  Society  of  the  Guillotine. 

"It 's  great/'  cried  Merton;  "but  wait  till  you 
hear  the  rest.  It  is  complete.  Nothing  like  it 
ever  happened  since  Chance  the  banker  first 
dealt  the  fate  cards  to  man." 

I  laughed.  "Elaborate  description  that,  a 
little  mixed — chance  and  fate." 

60 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"Tried  it  on  De  la  Motte.  He  was  not  in  an 
appreciative  mood.  But  how  neat  it  is,  how 
civilized — the  situation,  not  my  poetry !  Great 
Scott!  Greville,  think  of  it!  You  see  De  la 
Motte — I  beg  your  pardon,  M.  Joseph — is  to 
call  on  the  Royalist  challenger,  somehow  insult 
him,  and  get  up  a  mock  appetite  for  killing  a 
man  with  whom  he  has  no  quarrel.  That 's 
bad  enough,  but  -the  sequel !  Good  heavens ! 
Count,  don't  look  so  confoundedly  done  for! 
How  can  I  help  laughing,  Greville?  Now 
read  this  other  note." 

I  did.     It  ran  thus : 

The  gentlemen  of  the  Society  of  the  Guillotine  learn 
that  the  persons  who  constitute  your  club  continue  to 
insult  the  memory  of  His  Sacred  Majesty,  Louis  XVI, 
foully  murdered,  by  persistently  rejoicing  on  the  an 
niversary  of  his  death.  They  have  accordingly  ap 
pointed  by  lot  a  gentleman  who  will  represent  the 
honor  of  the  gentlemen  of  France,  and  so  arrange  as 
to  secure  the  needed  opportunity  of  meeting  the  rep 
resentative  named  in  your  inclosure.  This,  our  note 
we  trust,  will  be  forwarded  by  you  to  the  person  who 
acts  for  you.  The  gentleman  who  acts  for  the  So 
ciety  of  the  Guillotine  is  the  Count  Louis  Joseph  de 

61 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

la  Motte,  Captain  of  Cavalry  in  the  Imperial  Guard, 
No.  7,  rue  d'Alger,  who  is  duly  instructed  as  to  meet 
ing  M.  Joseph. 

The  captain  checked  my  cry  of  amazement. 
"Just  wait  a  little.  Let 's  have  all  the  docu 
ments.  Here  is  the  direct  personal  letter — 
our  friend  received  to-day  from  this  other  socie 
ty,  indorsed,  'Note  carefully,  and  burn  this  — 

The  President  and  Council  of  the  Society  of  the 
Guillotine  confide  to  you,  the  Count  de  la  Motte,  the 
honor  determined  by  lot  of  arranging  a  hostile  meeting 
with  the  person  named  in  the  letter  of  the  Club  of 
Jacobins.  As  it  is  desired  that,  except  in  the  councils, 
this  matter  should  not  be  known  as  other  than  of 
personal  origin,  you  will  so  arrange  within  a  month 
as  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  bringing  into  the  matter 
either  of  the  clubs.  As  usual,  both  parties  will  choose 
their  seconds  outside  of  the  members. 

Louis  de  La  Tour, 

Secretary. 
For  God  and  the  King. 

For  a  mojfcient  I  was  confused  by  the  com 
plexity  of  the  thing,  and  could  only  contribute 
exclamations,  while  De  la  Motte  sat  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  of  his  friends,  and  Mer- 
ton  gave  way  to  such  laughter  as  few  men 

62 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

laugh.  At  last  I  checked  him,  seeing  how 
serious  it  all  was  for  the  young  count. 

"Oh,  don't,  Greville !"  exclaimed  the  Ameri 
can.  "De  la  Motte  and  I  have  talked  this 
thing  dead.  He  will  tell  you  I  never  so  much 
as  smiled.  But  now — now  I  must  have  my 
laugh  out,  man,  if  I  am  to  be  of  any  use.  It 
is  like  suppressed  gout,  fatal." 

"I  find  it,"  I  said,  "too  strange  for  laugh 
ter." 

"Yes,  yes.  But,  heavens !  De  la  Motte,  don't 
look  as  if  your  mother-in-law  was  dead.  It  is 
comic-opera,  melodrama — ripe  mellow,  indeed. 
Have  you  quite  taken  it  in,  Greville?  Here  is 
one  man  whom  the  Puck  called  Chance  makes 
two  men.  These  two  men,  who  are  one  man, 
are  each  to  insult  and  kill  one  man,  who  is  two 
men.  Come,  who  shall  begin?  It  is  tragic. 
You  are  to  have  a  duel  with  yourself.  You 
have  not  even  the  privilege  of  suicide;  a  duel 
implies  two." 

"I  shall  end  with  killing  myself." 

"Nonsense!"  said  I.  "But  now  let  us  seri 
ously  consider  how  to  get  you  out  of  this  affair. 

63 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

Let  me  hear,  De  la  Motte,  how  it  looks  to  you. 
Of  course,  it  is  sure  so  far  that  neither  club 
knows  who  M.  Joseph  is/' 

"Yes,  as  yet — as  yet.  The  only  ray  of  com 
fort  is  that  my  uncle,  who  did  not  know  of 
these  last  challenges  when  he  nominated  me,  is 
now  wild  with  terror  lest  I  shall  be  killed,  and 
has  gone  out  of  town  to  his  vineyards  in  the 
South.  Of  course  the  two  councils  are  pru 
dently  silent,  as  is  their  custom."  The  count 
seemed  relieved  at  being  taken  seriously. 

"Go  on,"  said  Merton.  "Get  Greville  inside 
this  maze,  and  see  how  he  can  find  a  way  out. 
I  can't.  I  end  by  laughing.  I  should  laugh 
if  I  were  to  be  married.  Go  on." 

The  count  made  a  weak  attempt  to  smile. 
"My  aunt  would  not  leave  me  a  penny  if  she 
knew  I  were — ah,  mon  Dieu! — a  Jacobin.  My 
uncle  is  appalled  into  silence.  I  cannot  resign 
from  either  club  without  disgrace.  I  cannot 
explain  without  both  clubs  feeling  insulted.  I 
should  have  a  dozen  affairs  on  my  hands.  I 
can't — I  can't — Diable!  How  can  M.  Joseph 
insult  the  Count  de  la  Motte  ?  Or  I  insult  me  ? 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

It  is  like  some  maddening  dream."  He 
laughed  and  seemed  to  me  a  trifle  hysterical. 

"Where  now  is  the  advice?"  said  Merton  to 
me. 

"Upon  my  word,  it  is  nowhere." 

De  la  Motte  sat  still,  regarding  with  a  kind 
of  malignant  satisfaction  the  obvious  fact  that 
I  had,  like  Merton  himself,  been  beaten  by  the 
remorseless  logic  of  the  situation.  I  consid 
ered  how  it  would  answer  to  do  this  or  that. 
To  each  suggestion  there  was  a  sufficing  nega 
tive.  At  last  I  said:  "Suppose  you  do  noth 
ing,  and  your  month  goes  by.  What  then?" 

"Both  clubs  would  seek  explanations.  I — 
what  can  I — what  could  I  say?" 

"It  is  bewildering,"  I  said.  "Is  it  permitted 
to  speak  of  this  to  M.  Blanchelande?" 

"Oh,  never.  That  is  not  to  be  thought  of." 
As  we  talked  over  this  amazing  situation,  Cap 
tain  Merton  sat  silent  at  my  desk,  smoking, 
and  seemed  to  me  to  be  stating  the  case  in 
equations.  In  fact  he  was  merely  yielding  to 
one  of  the  habits  into  which  thinking  men  fall 
while  deeply  cogitating,  and  was  idly  writing 

65 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

numbers  here  and  there  on  the  page  of  a  blot 
ter.  At  last  he  threw  down  the  pencil  and 
swinging  round  said  with  decision,  "If  I  were 
in  this  trap,  I  should  tell  the  whole  pack  of 
fools  to  go  to — well,  Hades." 

"Heroic  American  commonplace,"  said  I. 
"We  are  in  France." 

"So  it  seems.  It  is  as  interesting  as  a 
charade.  These  societies  have  no  relation  that 
is  not  hostile,  Count?" 

"None,  of  course.     Absolutely  none." 

"Very  good.  Let  M.  Joseph  report  to  the 
Jacobins  that  having  personally  insulted  his 
chosen  antagonist,  that  is  you,  he  cannot  get  a 
fight  out  of  him.  You  see,  De  la  Motte,  you 
have  only  to  call  yourself  a  fool,  or  worse, 
which  you  at  least  may  feel  at  liberty  to  do. 
You  can  also  write  to  the  other  fellows,  the 
Royalists,  that  so  far  you  have  been  quite  un 
able  to  find  the  person  whose  name  as  respon 
dent  has  been  sent  to  you  by  the  Jacobin  Club, 
with  a  false  address.  All  this  is  true.  Any 
thing,"  said  Merton,  "to  gain  time." 

I  laughed  great  laughter  at  the  new,  doubly 
66 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

comic  situation  this  would  create,  while  the 
captain  insisted  that  it  would  let  our  man  out, 
and  fill  both  clubs  with  joy  at  the  humiliation 
presumably  inflicted  on  their  hereditary  foes. 
'There,  that  is  all  of  my  wisdom/'  said  the 
American.  "A  cigar,  please." 

The  count's  look  of  puzzled  earnestness  evi 
dently  amused  my  captain,  for  whom  it  was  all 
a  gigantic  joke,  and  of  course  also  a  matter 
which  might  at  any  time  become  grave — with 
out  which  possibility  even  the  humor  would  for 
him  have  lacked  something. 

We  talked  it  over  endlessly,  my  own  advice 
being  to  confess  to  both  councils  in  confidence. 
To  this  neither  De  la  Motte  nor  Merton  would 
listen.  Finally  we  decided  to  send  the  two 
letters.  They  were  composed  with  care  and 
duly  delivered.  Any  replies  for  the  count  were 
to  be  sent  by  the  council  of  the  Society  of  An 
cestors  to  my  care  as  his  second,  and  letters  to 
M.  Joseph  from  the  Jacobins  were  to  be  called 
for  at  M.  Granson's.  The  American  captain 
continuously  enjoyed  the  new  situation,  and  so 
having  played  our  cards,  we  waited. 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

The  captain  said  to  me  one  night, — it  was 
late,  I  remember, — "I  have  found  Paris  pretty 
slow  since  we  closed  out  that  diplomatic  adven 
ture,  and  really  I  have  seen  until  now  nothing 
to  equal  our  Porthos  and  Aramis.  Will  they 
answer  one  another  or  the  count  ?" 

As  we  talked,  De  la  Motte  came  in.  He  was 
always  coming  in  just  now.  Overhearing  us, 
he  said :  "I  can  gratify  your  curiosity.  Read 
that." 

THE  CLUB  OF  THE  JACOBINS 

Citizen  Joseph  is  informed  that  this  is  not  the  only 
occasion  when  the  Royalists  have  shown  cowardice. 
The  citizen  will  be  further  advised.  Caution  is  need 
ful,  as  the  police  are  troubling  the  Jacobin  Club. 

"So  I,  the  Count  de  la  Motte,  am  a  coward! 
Mon  Dieu!"  said  he. 

"On  your  own  evidence,"  laughed  Merton. 
"It  gets  funnier  every  minute.  To-day  it  does 
appear  to  have  reached  the  earthly  maximum 
of  the  droll.  To-morrow  it  will  be  somewhere 
in  the  fourth  dimension  of  the  comic.  If  you 

68 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

could  only  just  laugh  at  it,  Count,  you  would 
feel  better." 

"I  find  it  anything  but  laughable,"  said  the 
count. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you  are  right;  it  is  not  alto 
gether  a  mere  jest  of  fate.  To-day  it  is  comic 
enough,  to-morrow  we  may  find  it  anything  but 
amusing." 

"What  of  the  other  club?"  asked  Merton. 

"I  have  here,"  I  replied,  "the  letter  from  the 
Ancestors  sent  to  my  care.  Let  us  hear  it." 

De  la  Motte  opened  it,  and  read  it  aloud : 

The  Secretary  of  the  Society  of  Ancestors  has  re 
ceived  the  letter  of  the  Count  de  la  Motte.  The 
council  has  sent  to  the  Jacobin  Club  a  statement  of 
the  contents  with,  as  usual,  no  mention  of  names. 
Their  council  state  in  a  note  that  you,  Monsieur,  have 
been  grossly  insulted,  and  will  not  fight,  of  course  a 
lie  which  you  will  deal  with  to  your  satisfaction  when 
you  are  able  to  discover  this  man. 

"What  a  delicious  tangle!"  said  Merton. 
"What  next?  If  I  am  correct,  the  Jacobins 
are  a  bit  uneasy  because  of  the  police.  Yes. 

69 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

That  was  plain.  Just  wait  a  little."  Merton 
reflected  in  silence,  the  count  studying  him 
with  some  confidence  that  he  would  find  an 
exit  from  this  maze.  At  last  the  American 
officer  said  decisively,  "We  want  time,  but  how 
to  get  it?" 

" Why  time?"  I  asked. 

"Because — well,  something  may  cause  this 
Jacobin  Club  to  be  rounded  up.  Nothing  is 
more  likely  or — by  Jove !  De  la  Motte,  here  's 
a  priceless  idea:  you  could  get  smallpox  or 
typhoid  fever — be  in  bed  a  month." 

"What,  I  ?     Back  out  ?     Avoid  a  fight—" 

"What,  with  yourself,  De  la  Motte?  You 
ought  to,  you  must,  in  some  decent  way,  dis 
appear  for  a  few  weeks." 

"I  ought  to  disappear  forever  or  kill  some 
body.  Here  is  my  own  club  thinking  me — oh 
— me,  M.  Joseph,  afraid,  and  that  club  of  ver 
min  believes  that  I,  the  Count  de  la  Motte,  am 
a  coward,  and — I — I — I  think  I  shall  go  mad." 

"That  would  perhaps,  answer,"  said  Mer 
ton,  "if  well  managed,  but  the  fun  would  be  at 
an  end.  And  there  would  have  to  be  an  ex- 

70 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

planation,  the  thing  of  all  others  to  avoid. 
Disappear,  my  dear  friend." 

The  count  fell  back  in  his  chair,  the  figure 
of  despair.  "How  can  I?  Is  it  I,  M.  Joseph, 
or  De  la  Motte,  who  is  to  disappear?  Mon 
Dieu!" 

We  continued  our  talk  after  he  left  us. 
"You  are  right,  Merton,  about  the  police/'  I 
said.  "Blanchelande  was  here  to-day,  and 
tells  me  the  Guillotine  Society  has  been  warned, 
whatever  that  may  mean." 

"Humph!"  said  Merton,  "is  that  so?  By 
Jove !  I  mean  to  see  this  game  played  out." 

"Of  course;  and  we  must  somehow  get  our 
friend  out  of  his  scrape.  But  why,  Merton, 
are  you  so  incautious?  Alphonse  has  been  in 
and  out,  and  you  go  on  talking  as  if  we  were 
discussing  a  play  at  the  theater." 

"My  dear  Greville,  you  may  be  sure  that 
fellow  knows  all  about  it.  The  other  business 
was  far  more  serious,  and  you  know  how  use 
ful  Alphonse  was.  I  want  to  talk  to  him. 
Oh,  not  now.  Send  him  to  me  at  ten  to 


morrow." 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"Yes,  if  you  wish  it."  I  had  my  doubts  con 
cerning  this  consultation.  The  captain's 
methods  were,  as  I  knew,  somewhat  radical. 
Before  we  parted,  he  asked  in  a  casual  way  if 
there  had  been  any  personal  pledges  exacted 
of  those  present  at  either  club.  I  said  no. 

"I — see.  The  police  will,  I  trust,  relieve  us ; 
but  time  is  what  is  needed.  Don't  forget  Al- 
phonse.  I  wonder  what  the  next  act  will  be — 
'How  to  become  Twins'  ?  Good-by." 


AFTER  breakfast  the  next  day  I  saw  noth 
ing  of  my  valet  until  evening.  He  came 
in,  arranged  my  clothes,  and  disappeared.  At 
breakfast  the  following  day  I  thought  it  well 
to  investigate. 

"So  you  saw  the  captain,  Alphonse?  He 
kept  you  busy  all  day,  I  presume." 

"Yes,  Monsieur.  He  is  in  a  very  good 
humor,  as  he  was  that  night  in  the  rain.  Well, 
he  told  me  that  I  knew  all  about  this  affair  of 
M.  the  Count  de  la  Motte.  I  could  but  say 
the  captain  has  an  open-air  voice,  very  good 
for  cavalry  orders,  easy  to  hear." 

"Well?" 

"He  said  he  would  tell  me  the  whole  busi 
ness,  if  it  was  not  clear  to  me.  I  said  it  was 
not  needed.  Then  he  said  the  Jacobin  Club 
was  objectionable;  he  was  informed  it  would 
have  to  meet  elsewhere.  If  the  police  knew 

73 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

that —  You  see,  Monsieur,  the  captain  is  an 
innocent  person.  If  he  had  known  that  I  had 
a  cousin  on  the  police,  he  would  not  have  said 
such  things.  But  you  see,  he  has  a  confidence 
in  human  nature,  and  is  of  a  liberal  nature,  a 
thing  most  agreeable  to  my  cousin." 

The  valet's  face  was  as  a  mask.  What  else 
passed  between  the  captain  and  this  delightful, 
trustworthy  scamp  I  desired  not  to  know. 

After  a  brief  silence  he  added,  "It  may  be 
weeks." 

" What  else?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  Monsieur." 

As  the  days  of  the  next  week  went  by,  De 
la  Motte  uneasily  shuttle-cocked,  as  Merton 
said,  between  our  rooms  until  I,  believing  the 
thing  at  an  end,  was  rather  bored. 

On  Saturday  I  heard  Merton's  matchless 
laughter  as  returning  from  the  Odeon  I  en 
tered  my  rooms.  He  was  alone. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "what  now?"  Few  men 
laugh  outright  when  alone.  "What 's  up 
now?" 

"Oh,   it  is  becoming  sweetly  simple.     The 

74 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

Jacobins  desire  M.  Joseph  to  make  the  neces 
sary  insult  physically  such  as  he  may  find 
agreeably  productive  of  a  row.  I  like  the  way 
they  put  it.  The  Royalists  do  not  report  ex 
cept  to  say  they  have  again  written,  denying 
the  slander  concerning  their  man.  Both  clubs 
consider  some  abrupt  and  specific  action  de 
sirable.  It  is  a  sort  of  mutual  hornet's  nest, 
both  swarms  furious.  This  young  fellow  is  in 
a  state  of  panic.  He  will  presently  do  some 
thing  rash.  I  see  a  rather  carefully  worded 
article  in  'Le  Temps'  about  clubs  and  secret 
societies." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  am  getting  rather  bored 
with  these  societies  and  our  hopeless  young 
count.  Not  the  ingenuity  of  Dumas  could 
answer  these  last  notes.  He  is  at  his  wit's 
end." 

"There  is  more  end  to  mine,"  said  Merton, 
"and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  in  this  slow  town  I 
am  enjoying  the  position  of  counselor  in  this 
mess.  Are  you  going  to  Baron  St.  Pierre's 
this  afternoon?" 

"Yes,"  said  I.     "I  will  call  for  you." 
75 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"Do,"  he  returned.  "All  of  the  best  fencers 
in  Paris  will  be  there.  We  are  to  play  our  club 
against  the  army  men."  Since  his  duel  with 
Porthos,  a  passionate  lover  of  the  foil,  he  had 
become  of  unusual  competence. 

"Will  De  la  Motte  be  there?"  he  added. 

"Yes,  he  is  sure  to  be." 

A  gayer  scene  than  the  garden  back  of  the 
baron's  chateau  on  this  sunny  afternoon  could 
not  be  found.  Welcomed  by  the  host  in  the 
house,  we  passed  out  into  and  through  the 
garden.  Beyond  it,  within  a  semicircle  of  tall 
box,  was  a  grassy  space,  and  about  it  were 
chairs  and  little  tables  with  refreshments. 
The  scene  was  gay  with  undress  uniforms  and 
well-clad  men,  devotees  of  the  foil. 

De  la  Motte  and  others  spoke  to  us  as  we 
strolled  about  and  watched  the  pairs  of  fencers 
on  the  green.  About  four,  we  sat  down  and 
saw  with  interest  the  prearranged  matches. 
Before  five  o'clock  the  army  had  lost  the  match. 
Bets  were  paid  and  gay  challenges  given  and 
accepted,  the  temporary  judges,  of  whom  De 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

la  Motte  was  one,  deciding  as  to  the  winners 
in  these  manly  games. 

Then,  to  my  amusement,  I  saw  the  Ameri 
can  captain's  athletic  figure  matched  against 
our  old  acquaintance  the  colonel — Aramis,  as 
we  called  him.  He  was  well  known  to  me  as 
one  of  the  best  blades  in  France,  but  the 
American  was  younger  and  of  amazing  quick 
ness.  I  saw  the  couple  engage  and  saw,  too, 
very  soon  that  on  the  part  of  Aramis  there  was 
some  vexed  remembrance  of  an  unpleasant 
past.  The  button  on  the  foil  does  not  insure 
good  temper,  and  presently  I  observed,  as  did 
other  experts,  that  both  men  were  too  much  in 
earnest.  As  they  fell  back  after  a  bout,  the 
French  gentleman  a  little  flushed,  the  captain 
smiling,  something  which  I  did  not  hear  was 
said  by  De  la  Motte  about  the  match.  I  under 
stood  him  to  have  decided  a  disputed  point  in 
favor  of  the  French  colonel. 

To  the  amazement  of  all  within  earshot, 
Captain  Merton  said  abruptly  in  a  loud  voice, 
"That  is  not  true/'  Had  we  been  alone,  a 

77 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

word  about  hasty  speech  and  an  apology  would 
have  settled  the  matter;  but  here,  overheard 
by  a  group  of  brother-officers,  the  reply  was 
unavoidable.  De  la  Motte  went  up  to  Merton 
and  said  with  quiet  courtesy,  "I  may,  indeed,  I 
surely  have  misunderstood  your  words.  An 
apology — the  simplest  will  answer,  a  word — " 

"I  do  not  make  apologies." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  disapprobation, 
while  the  captain,  entirely  undisturbed,  stood 
still.  When  the  unfortunate  reply  to  De  la 
Motte's  appeal  was  made,  I  hurriedly  left  a 
group,  seeing  Merton  as  it  were  without  the 
support  he  certainly  did  not  deserve.  "This 
way,"  I  said  to  him,  drawing  him  aside. 
"Cannot  this  be  helped?  It  is  easy  to  end  it; 
a  word  will  answer.  You  have  both  given 
such  proofs  of  courage  as  will  quiet  criticism." 

"My  dear  Greville,  it  is  going  to  be  helped. 
I  shall  have  no  occasion  to  have  made  my  will. 
Droll,  is  n't  it?  Fourth  act." 

I  neither  liked  nor  understood  it.  I  made 
no  rejoinder,  for  now  the  reasonable  counsel 
of  postponement  having  failed,  and  the 

78 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

younger  men  and  the  count  insisting  on  imme- 
diate  action,  his  seconds,  Major  Leuret  and 
the  baron,  asked  who  were  Captain  Merton's 
friends.  The  American  captain  turned  to  me 
at  once,  and  then,  to  my  astonishment,  to 
Aramis,  who  accepted.  Amid  the  ominous 
silence  which  fell  on  this  gay  crowd,  I  had  a 
word  with  my  principal,  asking  for  instruc 
tions. 

"No  apology,"  said  he  to  me  sternly,  "and 
swords,  as  of  course  we  have  the  choice  of 
weapons/' 

With  the  other  seconds  I  went  into  the 
chateau.  No  attempt  at  a  peaceable  ending 
was  even  hinted.  My  proposal  of  swords  was 
accepted,  and  weapons  were  selected  from 
Baron  St.  Pierre's  armory.  I  was  distressed 
beyond  measure,  because  not  only  were  both 
men  my  friends,  but  I  felt  ashamed  of  the  be 
havior  of  Merton,  whose  courteous  ways  had 
everywhere  made  him  a  favorite. 

As  I  came  out  with  the  dueling-swords  under 
my  arm,  every  one  drew  back,  and  the  voices 
fell  away.  The  two  men  stripped  to  the  waist 
.79 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

turned  toward  us.  The  American  was  quiet 
and  smiled  faintly  as  he  received  his  blade.  I 
thought  De  la  Motte  looked  uneasy  and  a  little 
flushed.  It  seemed  to  me  a  most  outrageous 
affair. 

Then  Major  Leuret  and  I  took  each  a  sword 
and  stepped  aside.  The  baron,  turning,  said 
to  his  guests,  "Now,  gentlemen,  I  need  not  ask 
for  absolute  silence." 

The  major  said:  "En  garde,  messieurs. 
Allez!" 

De  la  Motte  attacked  with  instant  fury  and 
the  extreme  of  imprudence.  Merton  was  cool, 
careful,  and  watchful.  I  had  become  expert 
with  the  foil,  and  knew  very  quickly  that  he 
was  not  using  his  advantages.  He  was  in 
splendid  condition,  and  the  other  man  was 
clearly  not  so,  and  began  at  the  close  of  the 
second  bout  to  show  signs  of  fatigue. 

The  captain  parried  in  tierce,  and,  riposting, 
to  speak  technically,  thrust  quickly,  his  sword 
passing  through  the  outside  of  the  count's 
right  arm  below  the  shoulder.  The  count's 
sword  dropped,  hanging  from  his  limp  hand, 

80 


"EN  GARDE,  MESSIEURS 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

the  blood  running  freely  down  his  bare  arm  as 
he  stood  awaiting  our  decision,  flushed,  pant 
ing,  and  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

The  silence  was  unbroken  as  De  Leuret 
called  a  regimental  surgeon,  who  put  on  a  tem 
porary  dressing  and  said,  as  he  turned  to  us, 
a  few  words  which  forced  us  as  the  seconds 
to  conclude  the  affair  at  an  end. 

De  la  Motte  went  away  with  the  surgeon 
and  his  major.  I  said  to  Merton,  "We  had 
better  go." 

"Of  course  I  only  waited  for  you  to  give  the 
signal."  With  this  he  said  in  passing  a  word 
of  thanks  to  the  colonel  we  called  Aramis,  and, 
taking  my  arm,  walked  across  the  garden 
through  groups  of  gentlemen,  who  ceased  to 
speak  as  we  approached,  and  were  evidently 
by  no  means  pleased  with  my  principal.  He 
went  with  me  quietly,  not  the  least  disturbed. 
At  the  door  he  shook  hands  with  the  baron, 
saying  to  me  as  we  passed  out :  "Your  rooms, 
Greville.  I  want  to  talk  to  you."  I  saw  that 
he  did  not  wish  to  speak  for  a  time,  and  al 
though  I  was  indignant  at  his  loss  of  temper 

83 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

and  what  it  had  cost,  I  held  my  tongue  until 
we  were  seated  in  my  salon.  Then  I  said, 
"Why  did  you  of  all  men  lose  your  temper  and 
insult  that  good  fellow  ?" 

"Well,  now,  Greville,  for  an  American  I  did 
expect  something  better  of  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Yesterday  these  cursed  Jacobins  sent  M. 
Joseph  a  statement  to  the  effect  that  his  report 
of  having  insulted  his  Royalist  was  denied,  and 
he  must  at  once  proceed  to  extremities  or  ex 
plain  to  the  council.  This  morning  the  Guil 
lotine  Club  informed  him  that  he  was  invited 
to  state  to  M.  Blanchelande  what  further  had 
passed  between  him  and  the  lying  Jacobin. 
We  were  thus  invited  to  explode  comic  fire 
works  for  Paris." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "what  has  all  this  got  to  do 
with  your  very  unpleasant  and  needless  quar 
rel?" 

"Unpleasant,  certainly.  Needless  ?  No. 
The  man  is  half-crazy.  He  can't  kick  him 
self.  These  two  fool  clubs  have  'called  him,' 
and  he  holds  no  hand.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon ; 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

he  has  two  of  a  kind,  after  a  fashion,  much  of 
a  kind.  Jolly  idea.  You  are  not  usually  slow. 
For  a  little  sword-wound  this  gentleman  is  out 
of  a  ruinous  scrape." 
"But,  Merton,  it  was  outrageous." 
"Oh,  perhaps;  but  now  a  note  to  Blanche- 
lande  from  you  as  second  will  satisfy  the  An 
cestors  that  the  Count  de  la  Motte  is  off  the 
list  of  possible  duelists  for  a  good  while  to 
come.  As  for  the  Jacobins,  I  do  not  know. 
My  hope  lies  with  Alphonse  and  the  police. 
You  were  rather  full  in  your  revelations  to 


me." 


"But  you  did  not—" 

"Yes,  I  did.     Where  the  deuce  are  your 
cigarettes?     I   must   see   De   la   Motte,   and 


soon." 


"See  him !     He  will  never  forgive  you." 
"Then  he  will  be  a  fool  and  an  ungrateful 

fool.     But  see  him  yourself  and  set  his  mind 

at  ease.     Now,  don't  look  at  me  that  way. 

Wasn't    it    delightful?     Couldn't    negotiate 

smallpox;  had  to  take  next  best." 

I  fell  back  in  my  chair.     He  was  right,  of 

85 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

course.     The  audacity  of  the  thing,  the  cool 
adjustment  of  a  dreadful  difficulty  by  means 
like  these,  the  risks,  the  opprobrium  caused  by 
seeming  ill  temper  and  insult,  I  do  not  think 
troubled  the  captain  for  a  moment. 
He  said,  "You  think  it  abominable." 
"Frankly,  yes.     I  do." 

"Well,  put  it  the  other  way.  You  were  at 
the  end  of  your  resources,  I  almost,  and  this 
man  half-crazed.  I  do  a  minor  surgical  op 
eration,  and  presto!  the  patient  is  cured.  At 
all  events,  we  gain  time.  The  fact  is,  Greville, 
you  are  cross  on  account  of  my  apparent  be 
havior.  Now  I  must  go ;  but  if  any  one — " 
"Oh,  by  George !  no  more  duels." 
"Well,  let  them  rage.  Good-by." 
I  inquired  next  day  for  De  la  Motte,  and 
learned  that  he  was  doing  well,  but  declined  to 
see  me.  Two  days  later  I  called,  and  was  so, 
persistent  that  he  sent  me  word  that  I  might 
come  up  to  his  room.  His  apartments  were  in 
a  small  hotel  in  the  rue  d'Alger  and  were  very 
modest  and  simple.  As  I  approached  his  bed 
side,  he  said:  "You  have  forced  me  to  see 

86 


y-f 
j*v 


THE   COLONEL 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

you,  but  why,  Monsieur,  I  cannot  comprehend. 
I  beg  of  you  to  be  brief.  Pray  be  seated." 

"I  came/'  said  I,  "because  as  your  friend  and 
Captain  Mer ton's  some  explanation — " 

He  broke  in  angrily.  "Some  explanation, 
Monsieur?  A  man  insults  me  as  if  with  in 
tention,  and  presents  me,  besides,  with  this 
sacre  wound.  I  had  no  idea  the  thing  hurt  so 
much/'  There  was  a  good  deal  of  the  boy 
about  this  very  pleasant  young  soldier. 
"Dame!"  and  he  groaned. 

"But,  my  dear  Count,  did  it  never  occur  to 
you  that  what  you  desired,  that  some  one  would 
shoot  you,  has  virtually  come  about  ?  I  mean 
that  you  are  literally  hors  de  combat  for 
months,  and  that  a  note  to  M.  Blanchelande 
from  me  will  relieve  you  of  the  necessity  of 
kicking  M.  Joseph  or  explaining  what  you  can't 
explain." 

"Mon  Dieu,  that  is  so.  I  thought  of  that 
last  night." 

"Might  you  not  also  have  realized  that  for 
a  trivial  wound — " 

"Trivial!     I  wish  you  had  it.     I  can't  turn 

89 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

over  on  that  side,  and  I  always  sleep  on  my 
right  side."  Then  I  laughed,  and  so  did  he. 

"Trivial,  I  insist.  For  a  slight  wound,  you 
have  escaped  being  the  jest  of  every  club  and 
gazette  in  Paris  as  the  man  who  was  two  men 
and  was  expected  to  kick  himself.  Some  clever 
brute  would  make  a  neat  little  lever  de  rideau 
for  the  Odeon — " 

"I  would  kill  him." 

"You  can't  kill  all  Paris  when  it  laughs 
unanimously." 

He  groaned.     "Excuse  me,  that  shoulder!" 

"Why,"  said  I,  "do  you  suppose  a  courteous, 
honorable  man  doubted  your  word,  your  de 
cision,  so — well,  so  brutally  and  with  no  rea 
son  to  do  so." 

"Lost  his  temper,  I  presume." 

"What,  this  man?  Oh,  no.  And  he  might 
have  ended  your  duel  easily  three  or  four 
times.  You  are  no  match  for  him.  He 
played  with  you." 

"Sacre!     But  why?" 

"Perhaps  he  meant  to  do  you  the  friendly 
90 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

service  of  presenting  you  with  three  weeks  in 
bed." 

"Incredible." 

"But  true.     That  man  is  your  friend." 
"Mon  Dieu!    Is  this  really  so?     What  a 
man!     Has  he  said  so?     Come,  honestly?" 
"Yes." 

"You  Americans  are  singular  people." 
"You  have  a  slight  wound.  He  has  more 
or  less  accepted  in  your  service  the  conse 
quences  of  what  he  said  to  you  in  the  garden. 
He  neither  can  nor  will  explain  to  these  gentle 
men.  To  do  so  would  be  impossible.  Now, 
who  is  the  worse  wounded,  you,  his  friend, 
or  he?" 

The  count  was  silent.     "Any  arrangement 
with  you  for  a  mock  duel  would  have  been  for 
gentlemen  out  of  the  question.     He  took  the 
risks  for  himself  and  you.     No,  do  not  answer 
me,  but  read  this  letter  from  Merton." 
"Have  the  kindness  to  open  it  for  me." 
I  did  so,  and  gave  it  to  him.     I  had  already 
seen  it.     There  were  two  notes: 

91 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND:  We  were  at  a  crisis,  and  I  took 
the  one  way  to  get  you  over  it.  You  could  not  sham 
sick  or  explain  or,  in  fact,  do  anything.  You  must 
forgive  me,  and  use  as  seems  best  the  inclosed  letter. 

Yours  truly, 

Arthur  Merton. 

The  other  note  ran  thus : 

MY  DEAR  COUNT:  I  beg  of  you  to  receive  my  most 
humble  apology  for  my  display  of  bad  temper  and 
to  express  my  regret  at  the  consequences.  You  are 
at  liberty  to  show  this  to  any  of  the  gentlemen  who 
were  present.  I  have  already  apologized  to  the  baron 
our  host.  I  have  the  honor  to  be 

Yours,  etc. 

"St.  Denis !  but  your  captain  is  a  gentleman 
of  the  best.  Ask  him  to  come  and  see  me." 

"I  will,  and  you  must  not  get  well  too  soon. 
Your  uncle  is  anxious,  and  is  both  silent  and 
scared,  no  bad  thing.  Mile.  Rosalie  is  in  tears ; 
altogether  you  ought  not  to  be  an  unhappy 
young  man." 

"Well,  you  have  brought  me  some  sunshine, 
but  I  am  what  you  call  bored.  My  aunt  calls, 
but  cannot  mount  the  stairs.  Do  come  soon 
again — and  Merton." 

92 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"I  think  you  want  better  care.  I  will  let 
you  have  Alphonse  for  a  week  or  so." 

"Delightful.  He  is  most  amusing,  and  at 
the  Guillotine  Club  is  our  servant,  as  you  saw." 

"Yes;  he  will  enliven  you.  By  the  way,  he 
knows  pretty  much  all  there  is  to  know  about 
this  embroglio." 

"Indeed." 

"Yes;  but  you  may  trust  him.  He  was  in 
and  through  a  very  perilous  adventure  with 
Merton  and  me  some  time  ago,  and  showed 
courage  and  discretion.  No  one  will  hear  of 
the  duel  of  M.  Joseph  and  Count  de  la  Motte 
from  Alphonse." 

"Thank  you,  and  do  send  him  soon." 

A  note  from  me  to  M.  Blanchelande,  speak 
ing  casually  of  this  unfortunate  duel,  termi 
nated  the  count's  hostile  relation  to  M.  Joseph 
the  Jacobin.  I,  as  a  Jacobin,  also  visited  M. 
Granson,  the  too  busy  uncle,  now  again  in 
Paris,  and  so  alarmed  him  that  he  reported  to 
the  Jacobin  Club  that  his  friend  M.  Joseph  had 
changed  his  lodgings,  and  had  probably  left 
Paris.  It  was  sadly  to  be  feared,  he  added, 

93 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

that  M.  Joseph  had  no  mind  to  a  serious  en 
counter  with  the  angry  respondent  of  the  Guil 
lotine  Club. 

I  went  away  next  day  to  Marseilles  on  lega 
tion  business  and  was  gone  a  week.  On  my  re 
turn  I  found  the  count  still  in  bed,  but  patient 
enough. 

Once  or  twice  a  day  Alphonse  came  to  care 
for  me  and  my  rooms,  and  always  was  present 
at  breakfast.  I  soon  saw  that  he  was  eager 
to  talk,  but  knew  that  he  would  as  usual  wait 
for  me  to  invite  the  outflow.  Sometimes  he 
was  exasperatingly  silent,  and  sometimes  quite 
too  free  of  speech  concerning  what  he  saw  or 
heard. 

I  said,  one  morning,  "Alphonse,  are  there  no 
other  clubs  ?" 

He  moved  around  the  table  so  as  to  face  me. 
"Clubs!  Mon  Dieu!  I  want  for  monsieur 
and  his  friends  no  more  clubs.  The  Jacobin 
vermin  have  gone,  broken  up." 

"Why  not  before?" 

"The  police  is,  as  Providence,  patient.    My 


cousin — " 


94 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"Ah,  your  cousin  of  the  police." 

"The  captain  desired  to  know  him.  The  rest 
came  of  monsieur's  amiability." 

"Mine?  What  do  you  mean — my  amiabil 
ity?" 

"Yes,  sare." 

"Stuff!     Don't  try  your  English  on  me." 

'Yes,  sare.  Monsieur  may  remember  that 
having  been,  to  my  grief,  a  visitor  at  this  low 
club,  he  did  say  to  the  captain  they  were  un 
easy  and  would  meet  elsewhere,  and  caution 
was  mentioned  as  desirable.  Monsieur  did 
think  there  was  too  much  politics  and  perhaps 
foolish  plots  of  which  M.  Granson  hinted." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"The  captain  saw  my  cousin.  He  is  in 
much  favor  with  the  superior  police.  My 
cousin,  alas!  loves  money.  The  rest  is  mys 
tery — circumstances,  Monsieur — some  arrests. 
The  Captain  Merton  is  amazed — bored  when 
things  go  quietly." 

"Well,  go  on." 

"The  club  is  dead.  M.  Joseph — ah,  the  poor 
Joseph  he  is  in  bed.  He  has  also  left  Paris. 

95 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

He  is  no  more.  Which  of  him  is  dead  I  know 
not.  There  should  be  obsequies,  funeral  for 
M.  Joseph  departed  this  life,  to  the  joy  of  the 
Count  de  la  Motte.  When  I  did  tell  him,  he 
gave  me  a  napoleon,  because  he  was  pleased 
when  I  proposed  to  him,  as  the  surviving  rel 
ative  of  M.  Joseph,  to  send  out  letters  de  faire 
part.  I  did  tell  the  captain,  but  he  said  to  go 
to  the  devil,  which  is  not  needed,  for  he  too 
often  come  to  the  captain.  Pardon,  Monsieur, 
I  mean  to  me.  When  I  thus  mourned  over  M. 
Joseph,  the  count  gave  me  another  napoleon, 
and  ordered  champagne  for  his  dinner/' 

Thus,  enlightened  by  Alphonse  and  some 
what  annoyed,  I  asked  Captain  Merton  what 
use  he  had  made  of  my  careless  statement  in 
regard  to  my  brother  Jacobins,  he  said  his 
memory  was  bad,  and  declined  to  confess.  We 
seemed,  to  the  regret  of  the  captain,  to  be  now 
done  with  the  complications  of  our  friend's 
dual  personality ;  but  his  aunt  was  still  uncom 
fortable  in  regard  to  the  count's  engagement. 
To  the  amusement  of  Merton  and  myself,  Al- 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

phonse  was  the  means  of  adjusting  this  mat 
ter. 

The  third  week  after  the  duel  in  the  garden, 
Merton  and  I  were  at  breakfast  in  his  rooms  in 
the  rue  du  Roi  de  Rome  when  Alphonse  ap 
peared  with  a  note  from  Count  de  la  Motte. 

The  captain  read  it  aloud : 

MY  DEAR  MERTON  :  Come  in  to-morrow.  My  aunt, 
the  Marquise  de  Chatelet,  has  written  to  me  that  she 
is  much  pleased  to  have  learned  of  my  gallant  con 
duct  in  an  abortive  affair  with  a  wretch  belonging  to 
the  Club  of  Jacobins,  but  hopes  I  will  now  marry  and 
have  no  more  duels.  There  may  have  been  of  late 
expenses,  she  writes,  of  doctors,  etc.,  and  incloses  a 
handsome  cheque.  Also,  Mademoiselle  Rosalie  is  to 
be  taken  to  see  her  to-morrow,  which  will  end  a  long 
family  quarrel.  Congratulate  me.  I  do  not  quite  un 
derstand  how  she  came  to  hear  of  the  Jacobin  muddle. 
It  revives  a  little  my  uneasiness.  I  hoped  it  dead  and 
buried. 

Merton  looked  up.  "Alphonse,  you  rascal, 
you  have  been  taking  notes  to  madame  the 


aunt." 


'Yes,  Monsieur." 

97 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

"Tell  us  all  about  it." 

"If  my  master  permits/' 

"Oh,  go  on.  What  have  you  been  doing 
now?" 

"Two  days  ago  I  was  to  bring  an  answer 
from  the  marquise  to  a  note,  and  was  bid  to  go 
up-stairs.  Monsieur  has  seen  the  lady?" 

"Yes." 

"She  is  of  great  size.  There  is  much  of  her. 
She  said:  'You  are  by  the  kindness  of  M. 
Greville  caring  for  the  count.  A  miserable 
business,  most  regrettable/  'Ah,  Madame/  I 
say,  'there  might  have  been  a  worse,  only — ' 
and  I  stopped. 

"Madame  says,  'Go  on/  and  I,  'Ah,  Madame 
may  not  know  that  because  my  grandfather 
sheltered  his  master  he  was  guillotined,  and  I 
am  at  times  a  servant  of  the  Society  of  Ances 
tors,  and  so  chance  to  know  of  the  lamentable 
duels  with  the  low-born  Jacobin  Club.  The 
count  was  chosen  to  represent  the  Royalist 
club  in  an  affair,  and  when  the  Jacobin  was 
not  easy  to  insult  I  know  not  what  the  count 
did  to  that  miserable  man.  No  one  does  know. 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

The  count  is  reticent,  like  all  the  brave.  It 
was  one  of  the  name  of  Joseph — a  M.  Joseph. 
He  would  not  think  of  pistols,  that  man.  He 
is  gone — fled.  Even  as  far  as  America  he  is 
gone,  Madame,  and — and  now  it  seems  that  the 
police  has  dispersed  the  Club  of  Jacobins.' 

"When  I  told  her  this,  the  old  lady  stood  up. 
She  is  as  the  column  in  the  Place  Vendome  for 
height.  She  said:  The  Lord  be  praised! 
And  so  the  Jacobin  ran  away?' 

"I  said,  'Yes,  else  the  count  would  have  killed 
him — that  poor  Joseph/ 

"After  that  she  said,  'You  seem  rather  too 
well  informed/ 

"I  ventured  to  say  madame  la  marquise  must 
know  that  servants  hear  and  see  many  things. 
I  think  she  agreed  with  me,  but  all  she  said 
was,  'Some  of  these  things  were  better  not 
talked  about.'  Then  she  asked,  'What  did  my 
nephew  do  to  that  Jacobin  animal?'  I  said: 
'I  know  not  all.  M.  le  Comte  is  not  one  who 
talks  of  himself:  M.  Joseph  was  not  a  gentle 
man.  He  may  have  kicked  him.  The  person 
was,  madame  perceives,  difficult  to  be  insulted, 

99 


THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB 

like  those  of  his  kind.  Monsieur  found  it  nec 
essary  to  be  demonstrative.' ' 

"Great  Scott!"  said  Merton.     "What  else?" 

"The  lady  wrote  a  note  to  the  count,  and  I 
think  it  was  of  a  nature  to  please.  Then  she 
gave  me  a  napoleon,  and  I  am  sorry  it  is  all 
over.  It  was  productive." 

"You  are  a  man  of  genius,  Alphonse." 

"Merci,  Monsieur." 

"I,  too,  am  sorry  it  is  over,"  said  Captain 
Merton.  "And  now  again  Paris  will  be  dull. 
What  about  the  club  of  thieves,  Greville?" 

"No  more  clubs  for  me,"  I  said. 


IOO 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

A  STORY  OF  THIRTEEN  AT  TABLE 


O  try  to  come  home  early  this  evening," 
said  Mrs.  Woodburn,  as  she  sat  at  break 
fast. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear ;  certainly/'  her  husband 
said  in  an  absent  way,  the  morning  paper  he 
was  glancing  over  being  between  them.  Then 
aware  that  he  had  heard  without  clearly  under 
standing,  and  being  a  man  with  perfect  marital 
manners,  he  .laid  the  paper  aside  as  he  said: 
"Pardon  me.  You  were  saying,  my  dear — " 

"I  meant  to  say  that  I  am  a  little  nervous 
about  this  dinner.  I  did  say  that  I  hoped  you 
jvould  come  home  early  because,  if  anything 
happens — " 

"But  what  can  happen?"  he  asked,  ignoring 
103 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

the  state  of  mind  in  which  any  such  mild  enter 
prise  as  a  formal  dinner  always  found  the  mis 
tress  of  their  well-ordered  household.  Ex 
perienced  middle  age,  ample  means,  and  un 
questioned  social  place  had  not  sufficed,  as  he 
knew,  to  set  her  mind  at  ease. 

"What  can  happen?"  he  repeated,  as  he 
cracked  an  egg-shell.  "Your  dinners  are  al 
ways  pleasant.  Why  do  you  worry  yourself  ?" 

"You  know,  Harry,  I  never  worry;  but  I  am 
a  little  anxious  when  we  have  fourteen.  Some 
one  is  sure  to  fall  out  just  at  the  last  minute." 

"Has  it  ever  happened — to  us,  I  mean?" 

"No;  but  it  might." 

"Of  all  the  absurd  superstitious  survivals, 
this  does  seem  to  me  the  maddest." 

"Of  course;  but  it  does  survive.  I  have  it, 
and  so  have  a  good  many  people  who  have  not 
the  courage  to  admit  it." 

"That  is  no  doubt  true,  and  of  course  one 
does  have  to  consider  anything  that  may  make 
a  guest  uncomfortable.  You  are  quite  right. 
But  now  I  must  go.  I  saw  that  you  had  a  let 
ter  from  Sarah." 

104 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

"Yes.  She  finds  Albany  pleasant  and  gay, 
and  her  aunts  delighted  to  have  her.  I  wish 
she  were  here." 

"Still  uneasy?  Well,  I  shall  be  at  home 
early  in  case  of  trouble  about  that  fourteenth 
man  or  woman.  How  is  your  stenographer 
doing?  You  have  had  her  three  days.  Is  she 
useful?" 

"She  is  very  well  dressed,"  said  Mrs.  Wood- 
burn,  inconsequently. 

Her  husband  laughed. 

"What  a  feminine  criticism!  But  is  the 
young  woman  what  you  wanted?"  He  knew 
that  her  household  was  well  managed,  but  at 
cost  of  too  much  toil,  due  to  his  wife's  want  of 
method.  She,  too,  lamenting  what  her  inca 
pacity  cost  her,  was  quite  unable  to  correct  the 
evil.  When  her  husband  had  insisted  on  her 
using  his  stenographer,  she  had  been  amazed, 
as  are  such  natures,  at  the.  accuracy  and  easy 
business  ways  of  the  highly  competent  secre 
tary.  She  had  now,  as  she  answered  him,  one 
of  the  outbursts  of  enthusiasm  to  which  un 
stable  feminine  temperaments  are  subject.  She 

105 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

had  little  humor  and  in  large  and  small  mat 
ters  she  lacked  sense  of  proportion;  for  inevi 
tably  these  two  defects  exist  together. 

"Harry,  she  is  wonderful!" 

"Oh,  hardly  that." 

"Yes,  invaluable!  A  very  remarkable  per 
son.  Oh,  you  may  smile, — it  was  so  like  a  man 
to  smile, — I  always  want  to  stop  when  people 
smile." 

"My  dear,  it  is  one  of  the  forms  of  social 
punctuation — useful  at  times." 

"I  really  don't  understand  you,  Harry. 
Miss  Smith  is  invaluable.  She  writes  a  lady 
like  hand,  and  for  the  first  time  in  years  my 
check-book  balances  to  a  penny.  She  is  here 
on  the  stroke  of  five,  and — " 

"What  a  lesson  in  punctuality,  my  dear !  I 
must  say  for  the  young  woman  that,  except 
ing  Mr.  Ware,  she  is  the  best  stenographer  in 
our  office.  She  does  not  talk  unless  addressed, 
and  has  a  kind  of  reserve  not  always  found  in 
the  office  woman  of  her  occupation." 

"I  confess  she  puzzles  me  a  little." 

"I  am  not  surprised.  She  came  to  us  with 
1 06 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

high  commendation  from  the  Union  Business 
College.  Mr.  Eyton  said  in  his  private  an 
swer  to  my  application  that  she  had  one  draw 
back — she  was  too  strikingly  handsome." 

"I  should  not  speak  of  her  as  striking  in  any 
way/'  said  Mrs.  Woodburn. 

Again  her  husband  smiled. 

"And  I  should.  But  men  and  women  rarely 
agree  about  a  woman's  looks.  This  girl's 
ways — her  behavior — are  the  more  important 
matter.  What  my  head  clerk  calls  her  busi 
ness  manners  are  all  one  could  desire.  She  is 
quiet,  industrious,  accurate,  and  calmly  repel 
lent  when  any  of  the  juniors  speak  to  her  of 
anything  but  her  work.  Certainly  she  is  hand 


some." 


"Is  she  your  own  stenographer  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  slightly  annoyed. 

"Of  course  I  had  some  little  introductory 
talk  with  her  the  first  day  you  sent  her  here. 
I  thought  her  rather  self-possessed  for  so  young 
a  woman.  I  suppose  that  she  may  be  about 
twenty-seven;  but  it  is  only  a  guess." 

"Oh,  younger,  much  younger,  I  fancy. 
107 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

Have  you  never  observed,  my  dear,  that  one 
handsome  woman  is  apt  to  set  the  age  of  an 
other  rather  in  advance  of  the  fact  ?" 

"There  is  no  fact  in  this  case  unless  you 
asked  her." 

"Thanks,  Madam,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"This  witness  did  not  ask.  Did  you?" 

"I  did  not — that  is,  not  directly.  She  was 
uncommunicative.  In  fact,  she  has  amazingly 
self-protective  manners." 

"Not  a  bad  description.  A  valuable  quality 
at  need." 

"There  should  be  no  need  of  it  here." 

"Unless  her  age  were  in  question.  That  is  a 
fair  matter  for  feminine  self-defense." 

He  readily  understood  that  his  wife  must  no 
doubt  have  been  kindly  curious  about  a  young 
woman  whom  he  himself  felt  to  be  an  unusual 
person,  and,  too,  that  the  girl  had  shown  no  in 
clination  to  talk  of  herself. 

"There  certainly  is  some  mystery  about  her," 
said  Mrs.  Woodburn,  reflectively. 

"Well,  that  is  no  business  of  ours." 

"Perhaps  not."  Mrs.  Woodburn  was  iiv 
108 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

doubt.     "Her  manners  are  quite  too  good." 

Her  husband  laughed.  "What!  Both  dress 
and  manners!  Perhaps  I  had  better  tell  her. 
Correction  of  too  good  manners  should  be 
easy." 

"Oh,  Harry,  I  said  she  was  well  dressed,  not 
too  well  dressed."  And  then,  with  some  dim 
apprehension  of  his  meaning,  "You  really  are 
a — a  trifle  exasperating  at  times." 

"How  literal  you  are,  Helen!  Good-by;  I 
shall  be  here  early." 

A  busy  day  and  the  decision  of  a  large  suit  in 
his  favor  brought  him  home  about  seven  o'clock 
in  high  good  humor.  He  found  his  wife  al 
ready  dressed  and  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "no  thirteen  at  table  to 
night.  Who  have  we,  and  who  falls  to  my 
share?" 

"You  are  to  take  in  Mrs.  Grey." 

"Good!" 

"And  do  not  talk  to  her  all  the  time.  You 
have  Miss  Van  Seckel  on  your  left." 

He  made  a  wry  face.  "She  is  very  absor 
bent  of  talk;  and —  Who  else,  my  dear?" 

109 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

'"I  had  trouble  with  the  rest,  but  Miss  Smith 
was  helpful  and  really  quite  suggestive.  She 
wrote  the  cards,  and  now,  I  think,  it  is  all 
pretty  good.  Of  course  the  bishop  goes  in 
with  me,  and  the  admiral  is  on  my  left,  with 
Mrs.  Welles.  Then  comes  the  French  secre 
tary,  who  speaks  very  little  English,  and  be 
tween  him  and  the  German  engineer,  who 
speaks  none,  I  put  Miss  Nelson,  who  can  chat 
ter  in  both  tongues ;  and  so  on.  It  is  all  right, 
Harry;  and  I  am  so  relieved.  You  had  better 
go  and  dress." 

As  he  rose,  Miss  Smith  appeared,  saying,  as 
she  entered: 

"Very  fortunately  I  stayed,  Mrs.  Woodburn, 
thinking  you  might  need  me.  Miss  Nelson 
'phones  that  she  has  toothache  and  cannot 


come." 


"I  knew  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Woodburn.  "Thir 
teen  at  table !  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"May  I  not  'phone  for  some  one  else?"  said 
the  tall  girl. 

"Yes,"  said  Woodburn.  "Come  up  to  the 
library,  Helen."  His  wife  followed  him,  la- 

no 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

menting  her  ill  luck.  Miss  Smith  sat  down  at 
the  'phone  while  Woodburn  turned  over  the 
directory. 

"Try  Mrs.  Smallwood,"  said  his  wife.  "Not 
Mrs.  George — the  widow/' 

"Number  3421  Madison,"  read  Woodburn. 

"Hello!  hello!  Give  me  3421  Madison! 
They  do  not  answer." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Mrs.  Wood- 
burn. 

"Oh,  yes.  Central  says  wire  is  out  of  or 
der." 

"Of  course,"  cried  the  hostess.  "Then 
Madge  Delaney,  Harry." 

"I  have  her,  209  West,"  said  he. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Miss  Smith,  turning  from 
the  'phone;  "she  is  dressing  to  dine  out." 

"Oh,  this  is  too  dreadful!"  wailed  Mrs. 
Woodburn.  "Try  Helen  Carstairs.  Tell  her 
I  must  have  her." 

"She  is  sorry,  but  the  baby  has  whooping- 
cough." 

"Well,  I  certainly  do  not  want  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Woodburn. 

7  ill 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

"Of  course  not.  Try  9202  Fifth  Avenue — 
Miss  Jane  Crayton." 

"Hello,  Central !  Give  me  9202  Fifth  Ave 
nue!  .  .  .  The  butler  says  out  of  town." 

"Harry,  what  shall  we  do !  I  told  you  some 
thing  would  happen." 

"If  all  fails,  I  can  go  to  bed  with  a  bad  head 
ache,  my  dear." 

"Oh,  don't  joke  about  it,  Harry!" 

Miss  Smith  sat  quiet  at  the  'phone,  appar 
ently  an  uninterested  part  of  the  mechanism 
of  communication,  while  Woodburn,  troubled 
by  his  wife's  evident  distress,  said  at  last: 

"No  one  will  notice  it,  my  dear." 

"Every  one  will  notice  it.  Miss  Van  Seckel 
will  have  a  fit." 

"Heavens!  if  she  only  would!"  said  Wood- 
burn. 

"Why  not  'phone  her,"  said  the  unmoved 
stenographer,  "that  you  have  thirteen  at  table? 
Then  she  would  not  come." 

Woodburn  repressed  his  mirth.  His  wife, 
silently  indignant  for  a  moment,  said  nothing. 

"Come,"  said  Woodburn,  once  more,  "there 

112 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

is  Cousin  Susan  Maynan.  Oh,  I  have  her,  423 
Stone." 

"Hello!  hello!  423  Stone!  I  said  423— 
speak  louder,  Central !" 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"She  says  she  is  engaged;  very  positively,  I 
infer,  sir,  from  her  voice." 

"I  don't  believe  her/'  said  the  distracted 
hostess.  "The  cat!  It  is  because  we  asked 
her  so  late." 

"Don't  go  yet,  Miss  Smith,"  said  Woodburn. 
"Come  with  me,  Helen."  He  drew  her  into  a 
back  room. 

"Now,  what  is  it,  Harry.  We  cannot  dine 
thirteen  at  table.  I  know  you  would  die,  or 


some  one." 


"We  are  at  the  end  of  our  resources.  Sup 
pose,  my  love,  we  ask  Miss  Smith — " 

"Oh,  Harry—" 

"Now,  listen!  No  one  knows  her.  Your 
maid  can  dress  her  in  one  of  Sarah's  gowns. 
They  are  much  of  a  size." 

"What  an  absurd  idea !  And  to  put  her  be 
tween  two  foreigners,  a  girl  unused  to  society, 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

without  a   word  of  either  man's   tongue — " 

"Well,  rearrange  the  table." 

"Now  that  is  so  like  a  man.  How  can  I? 
It  is  half-past  seven  and  later.  Oh,  twenty 
minutes  to  eight !" 

"What  else  can  we  do,  dear?  As  of  course 
the  girl  can't  talk  to  either  man  at  all,  there  will 
be  no  social  blunders.  Come,  dear,  decide." 

"But  after  dinner,  Harry!     Heavens!" 

"She  must  be  introduced  as  a  young  friend 
on  a  brief  visit ;  and,  by  George !  she  will  be  at 
least  the  handsomest  of  the  lot." 

"Will  she  do  it?    What  a  dilemma!" 

"To  die  or  not  to  die,"  he  murmured.  "Wait 
a  moment,  my  dear;  I  will  ask  her — wait." 

He  went  back  to  the  'phone.  "Miss  Smith, 
my  wife  is  in  despair;  will  you  not  take  the 
vacant  place  at  our  dinner  table?  You  can 
wear  one  of  my  daughter's  gowns,  and  we  shall 
be  greatly  obliged." 

She  rose,  facing  him  as  he  spoke.  For  a  mo 
ment  her  chin  muscles  twitched, — a  certain 
sign  of  emotion, — her  eyes  filled.  As  he 

114 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

waited  he  wondered  what  caused  her  evident 
distress. 

"Well?"  he  said.  "I  am  sorry  to  hurry  you 
— but,  pray,  decide." 

"I  will  do  it,"  she  said,  decisively. 

"Thank  you." 

In  a  moment  his  wife  had  disappeared  with 
the  girl,  and  he  went  up-stairs  to  dress,  a  little 
anxious,  a  little  amused,  and  very  curious,  con 
cerning  the  outcome  of  this  social  venture. 
When  dressed,  he  met  his  wife  at  the  head  of 
the  staircase. 

"How  does  she  look,  Helen?" 

"Look?  Terribly  handsome.  All  the  men 
will  want  to  know  her.  Sarah's  slippers  are 
too  large  for  her,  but  the  gown  is  all  right. 
Had  I  not  better  warn  her  about — about  cer 
tain  things  ?" 

"Decidedly  not.  And,  my  dear,  as  Miss  Van 
Seckel  and  more  will  be  sure  to  ask  who  this 
young  woman  is,  I  suppose  we  had  better  agree 
that  she  is  a  young  friend  from  the  country 
with  us  for  a  day  or  two,  as  I  said." 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

"Harry,  we  are  committing  a  social  fraud, 
and  I  am  to  fib  to  support  it." 

"A  case  of  conscience  for  the  bishop.  You 
might  consult  him  in  strict  confidence." 

"I  do  wish  you  would  take  it  more  seriously." 

"Serious !  Indeed,  I  consider  it  so.  But  do 
not  try  to  overmanage  the  actors  in  our 
comedy." 

"Comedy!     It  is  tragedy.     It  will  end  ill,  I 


am  sure." 


"I  am  not  so  sure.  Well,  we  go  on  first.  I 
hear  the  door-bell." 

As  he  spoke  they  passed  together  into  the 
drawing-room,  she  still  anxious,  he  with  diffi 
culty  restraining  the  sense  of  humor  of  which 
not  the  gravest  situation  entirely  deprived  him. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  Bishop.  Good  even 
ing,  Admiral."  Mrs.  Woodburn's  face  cleared 
as  the  famous  sailor  said  some  pleasant  trifle, 
and  the  guests  came  in  rapid  succession. 

"I  think  they  are  all  here,  Harry." 

"Except  the  leading  lady,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Harry,  I  forgot,  the  butler !  He  will 
know.  I  never  thought  of  that." 

116 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

She  glanced  about  the  room.  The  attache 
was  struggling  with  a  tongue  unknown  to  man 
in  which  Mrs.  Welles  was  trying  to  make  her 
self  understood.  The  German  engineer  officer, 
who  had  received  a  dinner-card  with  the  name 
of  Miss  Smith,  was  awkwardly  waiting,  not  at 
all  comprehending  what  he  was  to  do. 


117 


II 


'TV/riSS  SMITH/'  announced  the  butler 
•1V-L  with  unusual  lift  of  voice.  In  the 
doorway  stood  a  young  woman  in  full  evening 
dress.  There  are  some  women  for  whom  what 
is  charitably  described  as  full  dress  is  a  fatal 
test;  there  are  others  for  whom  it  is  the  pre 
cisely  perfect  setting  of  a  radiant  jewel.  The 
master  of  the  house  murmured,  "By  George  !" 
and  went  promptly  to  meet  her.  He  was  at  his 
courteous  best,  and  felt  that  the  young  woman 
he  had  committed  to  an  impossible  task  must  be 
embarrassed  by  a  social  position  to  which  she 
was  utterly  unused.  If  so,  she  showed  no  sig 
nal  of  distress,  but  said  quietly  as  she  ap 
proached  : 

"I  am  late,  I  fear,  Mr.  Woodburn;  but  the 
streets  are  so  crowded." 

More  than  Mrs.  Woodburn  were  struck  by 
this  tall  and  graceful  girl  who  came  forward 

118 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

with  her  host,  white-gloved,  fan  in  hand,  smil 
ing,  and  apparently  at  ease. 

"I  have  apologized  to  Mr.  Woodburn  for  be 
ing  late.  I  repent  and  promise  to  be  better  be 
haved  the  next  time." 

"The  next  time,  indeed !"  said  to  herself  the 
amazed  hostess,  and  then  aloud,  and  with  en 
tire  coolness : 

"You  are  welcome  late  or  early,  my  dear. 
Admiral,  let  me  present  you  to  our  friend  Miss 
Smith.  She  came  in  on  us  from  the  country 
just  in  time  to  save  me  from  thirteen  at  table. 
Not  that  I  care—" 

"Oh,  yes ;  but  I  do,"  said  the  admiral.  "You 
are  doubly  fortunate  in  this  case,  Madam :  you 
preserve  life  and  enrich  it." 

"So  happy  to  be  a  life-saving  device!"  said 
Miss  Smith. 

Mr.  Woodburn  presented  the  German  en 
gineer  officer,  and,  to  Mrs.  Woodburn' s  relief, 
dinner  was  announced.  The  table  was  pretty, 
and  not  loaded  with  the  high  flowers  which  pre 
vent  a  view  of  opposite  neighbors.  On  the 
whole,  the  guests  were  felt  by  the  hostess  to  be 

119 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

well  seated  except  for  the  two  foreigners  be 
tween  whom  sat  Miss  Smith,  the  hapless  sac 
rifice  to  a  social  difficulty.  Mrs.  Woodburn 
was  more  than  merely  sorry  for  her,  and  with 
some  relief  and  more  surprise  saw  her  adjust 
her  gown  as  she  took  her  place.  The  hostess's 
fears  made  her  uneasily  watchful  for  the  series 
of  mishaps  which  she  felt  certain  must  soon  or 
late  betray  awkward  inexperience.  Distracted 
into  inattention  to  the  bishop,  she  was  only  able 
to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  listening  with  the 
aid  of  exclamatory  brevities  of  "Just  so!" 
"Ah,  really!"  while  she  stole  glances  to  left  or 
kept  watch  to  hear  what  would  come  after  the 
quiet  moment  of  adjustment  of  napkins.  The 
ill  luck  which  had  pursued  her  dinner  had 
obliged  Mrs.  Woodburn  to  place  between  the 
attache  and  the  admiral  a  dull,  middle-aged 
woman,  Mrs.  Welles,  who  dined  to  eat  and 
whose  fragmentary  French  served  to  add  for 
the  diplomat  the  interest  of  charades;  SQ  an- 
swerless  that  at  last  he  was  driven  to  talk 
across  his  relieved  neighbor  to  the  famous  ad 
miral,  who  understood  him  readily  and  replied 

1 20 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

in  French  which  had  the  courage  and  enter 
prise  of  the  navy. 

Hearing  the  young  attache  say,  "Pardon  me, 
Admiral,  does  my  neighbor  Miss  Smith  speak 
French  ?"  the  hostess  replied  for  him : 

"Not  a  word — at  least,  I  fear  not."  Her 
strange  young  guest  appeared  just  then  to  be 
silently  listening  to  the  German. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  the  diplomat,  still  speaking 
across  Mrs.  Welles,  "I  shall  at  least  try." 

"It  is  a  new  face  to  me,"  remarked  the  ad 
miral.  "She  has  the  beauty  of  unusual  distinc 
tion  and  the  distinction  of  unusual  beauty." 
He  felt  that  he  had  said  something  worthy  of 
his  reputation  for  gallantry. 

"Ah,  but  what  a  charming  description !"  said 
the  diplomat,  repeating  it  in  French. 

"You  are  delightfully  elaborate  in  your  com 
pliments,  Admiral,"  said  the  hostess,  overhear 
ing  them.  She  was  not  altogether  pleased. 
Here  was  terrible  certainty  of  attention  to  the 
guest  whose  correct  role  was  to  be  silent  and 
to  excite  no  remarks.  The  admiral  had  spoken 
in  French,  and  had  a  voice  of  command,  trained 

121 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

to  be  heard  at  distance.  To  Mrs.  Woodburn's 
amazement,  Miss  Smith  turned  from  the  Ger 
man. 

"Ah,  Admiral,  what  woman  could  be  so  free 
from  vanity  as  not  to  claim  property  in  such  a 
salute  from  the  flag-ship." 

This  gay  recognition  of  the  sailor's  phrase 
of  admiration  Mrs.  Woodburn  felt  to  be  rather 
in  the  manner  of  middle  age  than  what  was  fit 
ting  in  a  young  woman. 

"I  should  not  have  dared  to  say  it,  Made 
moiselle,"  said  the  young  Frenchman,  "but  I 
may  at  least  venture  not  to  disagree  with  the 
admiral." 

"Merci,  Monsieur,"  said  Miss  Smith. 

Mrs.  Woodburn  missed  his  reply,  but  knew 
in  a  few  moments  that  they  were  chatting  in 
fluent  French  and  discussing  French  country 
life. 

The  admiral,  as  he  said  later,  was  left 
stranded  on  the  engrossing  silence  of  Mrs. 
Welles's  appetite.  Mrs.  Woodburn  for  a  brief 
moment  sat  still,  and  then,  a  little  bewildered, 
listened  or  tried  to  listen  to  the  admiral.  Pres- 

122 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

ently  she  overheard  the  German  say  something, 
and  while  the  Frenchman  turned  to  Mrs. 
Welles  and  the  admiral,  Miss  Smith,  in  easy 
German,  talked  with  the  enchanted  engineer 
officer. 

It  was  quite  too  much  for  Mrs.  Woodburn. 
"A  pencil,  James,"  to  the  butler,  and  on  the 
back  of  a  menu-card  she  wrote:  "I  knew 
something  would  happen.  It  is  bewilder 
ing!  She  is  talking  French  and  German. 
H.  W." 

"Take  this  to  Mr.  Woodburn,"  she  said. 
The  card  came  back. 

"Send  her  down  here.  I  will  swop  off  Miss 
Van  Seckel.  My  congratulations.  H.  W." 

The  wife  tore  up  the  card,  threw  it  under  the 
table,  and,  resolute  to  bear  this  calamity  with 
Christian  patience,  set  herself  to  the  task  she 
liked  when  at  ease,  the  kindly  manoeuvres  of  a 
clever  hostess  intent  on  seeing  to  it  that  no  one 
should  have  a  dull  hour.  The  mid-table 
guests  were  out  of  reach.  Mrs.  Newton,  a 
middle-aged  dame,  was  left  to  herself  quite  too 
long  by  the  men  beside  her.  It  could  not  be 

123 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

helped.  The  gaiety  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
table  was  growing,  as  the  hostess  thought, 
quite  beyond  the  tranquil  tone  of  a  formal  din 
ner.  Her  husband  was  evidently  in  one  of  his 
moods  of  reckless,  social  enjoyment  of  which 
she  mildly  disapproved.  Neither  the  German 
officer  nor  the  attache  concerned  themselves 
with  any  neighbor  but  Miss  Smith,  who  took 
no  wine,  as  Mrs.  Woodburn  noticed,  but  smil 
ing,  at  ease,  and  low-voiced,  kept  up  a  polyglot 
exchange  of  what  seemed  to  keep  her  dinner 
comrades  in  a  condition  of  mirthful  glee. 

The  admiral,  accustomed  to  being  consid 
ered,  thought  the  woman  on  his  left  hopelessly 
dull,  and  calmly  gave  himself  up  to  a  good  din 
ner,  after  remarking  that  Germany  and  France 
were  contending  for  Alsace  and  Lorraine. 
Mrs.  Welles  said,  "Yes,  quite  so/'  and  retired 
into  the  seclusion  of  her  mind  to  think  it  over. 
Now  and  then  the  hostess  spoke  across  the 
corner  of  the  table,  making  constantly  defeated 
attempts  to  secure  the  attention  of  the  diplomat 
to  the  woman  between  him  and  the  admiral. 
The  attache,  understanding  her,  did  his  re- 

124 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

sponsive  best  to  interfere  with  Mrs.  Welles's 
earnest  interest  in  the  menu,  but  between  the 
double  difficulty  of  his  own  maimed  English 
and  the  lady's  halting  French,  he  soon  gave  up 
and  waited  his  chance  to  renew  his  gay  chat 
with  Miss  Smith.  The  whole  thing  had  got 
out  of  hand,  and  in  despair  Mrs.  Woodburn 
turned  to  talk  missions  to  her  clerical  friend, 
who  preferred  any  other  subject,  and  soon  be 
gan  to  ask  embarrassing  questions  about  the 
young  woman  who  was  so  very  handsome. 
There  was  relief  and  fear  in  Mrs.  Woodburn's 
mind  when,  earlier  than  her  husband  liked,  she 
rose  to  leave  the  men  to  their  wine.  As  she 
passed  him,  she  said,  laughing: 

"Now,  Harry,  small  cigars/'  and  then  in  a 
half -whisper :  "Do  come  soon!  What  shall  I 
do  with  her  1" 

As  the  women  went  up-stairs,  Miss  Van 
Seckel  in  an  aside  said  to  her  hostess :  "Who 
is  that  fresh  young  beauty,  Helen  ?  Your  hus 
band  was  provokingly  mysterious  about  her. 
He  made  us  all  curious." 

"Did  he,  indeed?     So  like  him.     There  is 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

not  the  least  mystery/'  replied  Mrs.  Woodburn. 
"She  happened  to  be  here  for  a  day,  and  saved 
us  from  thirteen  at  table." 

"How  fortunate!  So  Mr.  Woodburn  told 
us.  It  would  not  have  mattered,  he  said,  be 
cause  he  was  twins/' 

"How  confusing!"  said  Mrs.  Welles,  over 
hearing  them. 

Miss  Smith  had  so  managed  as  to  fall  in  at 
the  end  of  the  women  guests,  and,  entering  last, 
went  quietly  across  the  drawing-room.  Mrs. 
Woodburn,  feeling  pity  for  what  she  still  felt 
ought  to  be  the  embarrassment  of  a  peculiar 
position,  took  her  hand  and  saying: 

"This  way,  Miss  Smith/'  led  her  to  the  sofa, 
where  Miss  Van  Seckel  sat  in  the  glory  of  an 
expanse  of  sallow  neck  and  many  diamonds. 

"Pray  be  careful!"  murmured  her  hostess, 
the  next  moment  vexed  at  herself  as  the  girl, 
with  a  little  hauteur  in  her  voice,  asked,  "May 
I  know  why?" 

"Our  young  friend,  Miss  Smith,  Miss  Van 
Seckel,"  said  Mrs.  Woodburn.  Distinctly 
angry,  and  also  aware  of  having  made  a  blun- 

126 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

der,  she  turned  away,  leaving  her  guest  to  the 
inquisition  which  she  would  gladly  have  had 
her  escape,  but  which  she  knew  to  be  soon  or 
late  unavoidable.  Miss  Van  Seckel  was  rich, 
positive,  accustomed  to  deference,  and  made 
curious  by  Mr.  Woodburn's  vague  replies. 

"Sit  nearer,"  she  said.  "I  am  a  little  less 
able  to  hear  than  I  used  to  be.  The  young 
people  nowadays  speak  so  indistinctly.  You 
are  here  only  for  a  day,  I  am  told." 

"Yes,  only  for  a  day." 

"And  where  do  you  live,  my  dear?" 

"Ah,  Miss  Van  Seckel,  not  everybody  lives. 
I  exist."  The  girl  laughed  gaily.  Miss  Van 
Seckel  felt  that  she  was  being  disrespectfully 
trifled  with. 

"But  you  do  not  answer  me.  I  am  inter 
ested." 

"And  I.  It  is  a  question  in  geography,  and 
I  was  never  good  at  that.  Just  now  I  have 
been  back  in  Germany  and  Paris.  I  found  my 
two  dinner  companions  most  agreeable." 

"You  certainly  seemed  to  be  gay." 

"Oh,  not  noisy,  surely  not  noisy.  Count  von 
127 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

Kelser  was  telling  me  what  the  old  Empress 
said  about  closing  the  gambling-rooms  at 
Baden.  It  was  really  a  very  clever  story. 
You  have  been  at  Baden?" 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Van  Seckel,  feeling  that 
her  investigation  had  not  prospered. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  in  German;  it  is  really 
so  pretty  in  German.  I  suppose  you  have 
gambled  at  Baden — every  one  did." 

"I  do  not  gamble,  and  I  do  not  speak  Ger 
man." 

"Oh,  but  in  Dutch.  I  can  manage  it  in 
Dutch.  I  have  an  idea  that  all  you  old  Knick 
erbocker  people  speak  Dutch." 

"Then  you  are  mistaken."  Miss  Van  Seckel 
felt  that  Miss  Smith  was  amusing  herself,  and 
could  it  be  at  her  expense?  She  lifted  her 
glasses,  and,  looking  at  the  young  lady,  said, 
"You  seem  to  have  been  much  abroad." 

"Oh,  never  so  much  as  now.  Do  tell  me 
who  all  these  nice  people  are.  You  see,  I  am 
quite  an  ingenue  from  the  country,  and  if  you 
would  really  be  so  good.  Ah,  I  shall  lose  my 
chance !"  she  said,  rising  to  greet  a  noble-look- 

128 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

ing,  elderly  lady,  approaching  with  their  host 
and  the  bishop,  who  said : 

"I  take  the  liberty  of  a  house  friend  to  pre 
sent  myself.  I  am  Mrs.  Grey;  come  and  talk 
to  me.  We  leave  you  the  bishop,  Miss  Van 
Seckel.  He  has  deserted  the  men." 

Relieved  to  escape,  Miss  Smith  sat  down 
with  Mrs.  Grey. 

"You  are  the  blessed  fourteenth  who  saved 
us  all.  Shall  you  be  here  long?" 

"No;  I  am  here  only  for  a  day." 

"What  a  pity !  Young,  lovely, — pardon  me, 
my  dear,  I  am  not  a  man, — you  would  enjoy 
New  York.  No?"  Mrs.  Grey  detected  a 
strange  note  in  the  pleasant  young  voice,  and 
then  heard  with  surprise: 

"Could  not  I  slip  out  unnoticed?" 

"Are  you  ill,  child?" 

"Oh,  worse.     I  must  go." 

"Keep  quiet  a  little.  I  will  talk,"  and  she 
talked  on  until  presently  there  were  fresh 
groupings,  and  the  girl,  having  lost  her  chance 
of  escape,  rallying,  took  a  share  in  the  light, 
after-dinner  chat,  aided  by  the  clever  hostess 

129 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

and  the  sympathetic,  slightly  puzzled  elder 
lady.  Then  presently  the  men  came  in,  and  the 
admiral  took  his  seat  by  the  strange  guest  and 
fell  into  talk  about  the  Mediterranean  ports, 
with  which  she  seemed  to  be  well  acquainted. 

"What  a  fascinating  young  woman!''  he 
said  to  his  host  as  he  moved  and  gave  place  to 
a  younger  man.  "What  charm,  what  distinc 
tion!" 

"Yes,  quite  remarkable.  What  is  it,  my 
dear?"  This  to  his  wife,  as  she  turned  to 
speak  to  him. 

"Count  von  Kelser  will  sing  for  us  if  some 
one  will  accompany  him ;  but  I  can  find  no  one." 
To  her  amazement,  Miss  Smith  said: 

"Perhaps  I  may  be  able." 

"What  next?"  thought  Mrs.  Woodburn,  as 
the  girl,  asking  a  question  or  two  in  quickly 
spoken  German,  sat  down  at  the  piano  and 
swept  the  keys  with  a  practised  hand.  The 
count  sang  fairly  well  two  German  songs,  and 
then  said: 

"You  sing — I  am  sure  you  sing." 

"Yes,  with  Mrs.  Woodburn's  permission," 
130 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

said  the  girl.  "Have  you  heard  any  of  the 
modern  Greek  love-songs?  They  are  rather 
unusual." 

"No,"  said  Woodburn,  while  his  wife  stood 
by  in  speechless  astonishment,  and  a  rare 
soprano  rang  through  the  room. 

"Please,  another!"  said  the  bishop,  and  she 
broke  into  a  soft  Italian  lullaby.  Then  rising 
and  gathering  up  her  gloves  and  fan,  which 
she  had  laid  on  the  side  of  the  piano,  she 
said: 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Woodburn,  if 
I  run  away  early."  Then  in  a  whispered  aside, 
she  added,  "I  must  see  you  just  a  moment  be 
fore  I  go."  As  she  spoke,  a  number  of  young 
men  and  girls  and  an  older  matron  came  in, 
merry  and  talking. 

"You  promised  us  a  little  dance,  Aunt 
Helen,"  said  one  of  them;  "and  we  left  the 
opera  early  to  come  here." 

"Ah,  now !"  said  the  German  officer,  "we  are 
promised  to  dance.  Is  it  not  so,  Madam?" 
And  to  Miss  Smith,  "You  will  do  me  the 
honor?" 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

Hoping  that  her  amazing  guest  would  now 
relieve  her  by  leaving,  as  she  had  promised, 
Mrs.  Woodburn,  having  secured  a  good- 
natured  dame  to  play,  turned  again  to  speak 
to  Miss  Smith.  The  young  woman  hesitated 
a  moment,  and  then  with  a  look  of  elation  said, 
"With  pleasure,  mein  Herr." 

In  a  moment  she  was  moving  in  the  waltz 
with  the  officer,  the  light  of  wild  enjoyment  in 
her  eyes  and  something,  as  Woodburn  thought, 
of  reckless  abandonment  to  the  intoxication  of 
rhythmic  movement  with  a  master  of  the  joy 
ous  art.  It  was  impossible  for  any  one  to  fail 
to  note  the  grace  of  the  two  tall  figures  which 
shared  equally  the  pleasure,  and  conveyed  the 
impression  of  some  quality  of  motion  which 
set  them  apart  from  the  other  dancers  among 
whom  they  moved. 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed  of  a  sudden,  "pray 
stop !"  for  in  a  quick  reverse  movement  one  of 
Miss  Woodburn's  slippers,  far  too  large  for 
the  dancer's  foot,  flew  off.  Two  young  men 
ran  to  pick  it  up,  but  the  old  admiral  was 
quicker,  and,  slipper  in  hand,  bowed  as  the 

132 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

young  woman  sank  on  the  nearest  chair.  He 
said  merrily: 

"May  I  have  the  honor?" 

"It  is  I  who  am  honored/'  said  Miss  Smith. 

"I  regret,"  he  said,  smiling,  "that  I  am  too 
old  for  the  fairy  prince,  Miss  Cinderella." 

"Fairy  princes  are  of  no  age,"  she  returned, 
laughing. 

"One  more  turn,  Fraulein,"  said  her  part 
ner,  and  for  another  minute  or  two  of  intense 
enjoyment  she  moved  in  the  dance.  Then  at 
last,  flushed  and  thrilling  with  a  long-absent 
joy,  as  he  released  her  she  said  to  the  diplomat, 
pleading  for  his  turn : 

"No,  I  shall  dance  no  more;  I  must  go." 

"But  later,  presently,  again,"  said  Von  Kel- 
ser. 

"No — not  again ;  never !" 

"Ah,  Fraulein,  that  is  a  long  day." 

"Yes,  a  long  day." 

Many  eyes  followed  her  as  she  crossed  the 
room  to  Mrs.  Woodburn. 

"Now  I  am  going." 

"Certainly,  my  dear,   if  you  must."     And 

133 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

aside:  "The  maid  will  be  up-stairs.  I — I 
thank  you.  We  are  both  obliged — greatly 
obliged." 

"I  shall  wait  to  see  you  before  I  leave.  Yes, 
I — I  must  wait — up-stairs." 

With  a  courteous  word  or  two  to  those  who 
thanked  her  for  the  unusual  pleasure  of  her 
song,  she  cast  a  look  over  the  dancers  and  the 
well-dressed  groups  and  with  filling  eyes  left 
the  room,  murmuring  as  she  went:  "Cinder 
ella!  Cinderella!  Ah,  why  did  I  do  it!  But 
the  joy  of  it — the  joy !" 


134 


Ill 

WHILE  she  was  changing  her  dress,  and 
in  the  hands  of  a  wondering  maid, 
there  were  those  below  stairs  who  were  equally 
curious,  and  to  whom  the  hostess  was  making  a 
series  of  explanations  which  did  more  credit  to 
her  ingenuity  than  to  her  strict  regard  for 
truth.  The  new-comer  had  created  an  amount 
of  admiration  for  which  her  hosts  had  been 
quite  unprepared.  What  they  expected  was  to 
see  an  obviously  good-looking  and  clever  ste 
nographer  avoid  notice,  make  social  blunders, 
and  be  glad  to  escape  early  from  a  society  into 
which  her  inclination  to  oblige  her  employers 
had  led  her.  To  explain  to  their  friends  would 
have  been  easy. 

They  would  be  praised  for  their  ingenuity, 
and  when  she  had  gone,  would  confess  with 
laughter  who  was  the  shy,  unnoticeable  girl; 
but  here  on  their  hands  was  a  quite  different 

135 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

business.  They  were  glad  when  the  last  of 
their  too  curious  guests  had  left.  Woodburn 
had  felt  it  well  to  say  to  some  friends: 

"Yes,  a  pleasant  little  escape;  so  fortunate 
to  have  had  her.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  she 
leaves  to-morrow."  He  was  aware  that  now 
the  presence  of  Miss  Smith  in  his  office  might 
require  a  quite  different  explanation;  but  the 
future  concerned  him  very  little  when,  the  last 
guest  having  gone,  he  sat  down  in  his  library 
to  smoke  a  contentful  cigar.  While  he  re 
flected  with  wonder,  curiosity,  and  amusement 
upon  the  very  dramatic  outcome  of  the  effort 
to  secure  the  life-saving  guest,  Mrs.  Wood- 
burn  was  on  her  way  up-stairs.  For  her  there 
was  wonder  and  embarrassment,  but  certainly 
nothing  amusing,  in  the  social  comedy.  She 
was  a  woman  whose  inexactness  in  statement 
had  won  her  an  undeserved  reputation  of  being 
untruthful,  whereas  she  was  keenly  sensitive 
as  concerned  departure  from  verity.  Now 
she  had  to  her  discredit  a  dozen  fibs  and, — oh, 
to  the  bishop, — one  or  two  full-blown  lies. 

Her  mood  was  one  of  anger  with  every  body 
136 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

concerned  in  this  unpleasant  experience. 
Above  all,  what  business  had  this  girl  to  pass 
as  a  stenographer  and  blossom  so  inconceivably 
into  an  accomplished  woman?  Whatever  had 
been  her  unreasonable  moods,  as  she  went 
slowly  up-stairs,  they  gave  place  to  a  sense  of 
deepest  pity  as  she  entered  her  daughter's 
room. 

Miss  Smith,  alone  and  dressed  for  the  street, 
sat  at  the  fire,  sobbing  like  a  child. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Woodburn,  "what 
is  the  matter?  Was  it  too  much  for  you? 
We  were — we  are  so  much  obliged — are  you 
not  well?  Stay  here  and  go  quietly  to  bed." 

The  girl  did  not  look  up,  and  merely  shook  a 
hand  in  air,  a  wild  gesture  of  negation. 

Her  trouble  was  the  more  distressing  to  the 
kindly  matron  because  she  could  not  explain 
it.  She  drew  a  chair  to  the  fire,  and,  as  she 
sat  down,  captured  a  reluctant  hand. 

"I  shall  insist  on  your  staying  here.  Let 
me  send  the  carriage  away — " 

"No,  no!"  She  made  a  movement  as  if  to 
rise. 

137 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

"But  do  listen,  my  good  child !" 

"I  am  not  good,  and  I  am  not  a  child." 
Here  she  turned,  facing  Mrs.  Woodburn.  "I 
waited  only  because  I  did  not  choose  to  leave 
you  without  saying  that  we  shall  never  meet 
again.  You  must  thank  Mr.  Woodburn  for  his 
constant  courtesy  in  the  office." 

"But,  my  dear,  can  we  not  help  you?  What 
is  the  matter  ?  Why  do  you  go  ?" 

"Because  I  have  again  been  with  people  of 
my  own  caste,  and — and  I  have  no  right — no — 
right." 

"But  what  is  there — surely — I — " 

"Oh,  no,  no!  I  will  not  be  questioned.  It 
is  over.  I  shall  see  it  no  more.  Let  me  go." 

She  would  say  nothing  further,  but  went 
down  the  stairs  silent,  unyielding.  At  the 
door  Mrs.  Woodburn  said: 

"If  we  can  in  any  way — " 

"No.  Never,  never !"  She  passed  out  and 
into  the  carriage  and  disappeared. 

When  Helen  Woodburn  returned  to  her  hus 
band,  and,  much  distressed,  related  this  inter 
view,  he  said: 

138 


THE  FOURTEENTH  GUEST 

"It  is  very  sad.  She  is  still  so  young  and  so 
beautiful ;  what  possible  explanation  can  there 
be?" 

"I  might,  as  a  woman,  guess." 

"And  I,  as  a  man.  Poor  child!  She  will 
disappear  utterly." 

On  inquiry  at  her  lodging-house  next  day, 
this  proved  to  be  the  case. 


139 


THE  MIND-READER 


THE  MIND-READER 


A  TOO  frank  cousin  of  mine  once  said  of 
me  that  I  was  a  rolling  stone,  with  the 
usual  result.  I  replied  to  this  admonitory 
tribute  that  I  had  at  least  become  polished  in 
rolling,  and  left  him  to  make  his  own  infer 
ence.  That  I  have  rolled  much  is  true.  A 
part  of  my  rolling,  however,  has  not  been  of 
my  own  will,  but  the  result  of  circumstance. 

The  death  of  my  mother  and  sister  within 
the  same  year  left  me  with  a  very  modest  in 
come;  indeed,  too  little  for  a  man  who,  after 
two  years,  had  become  sure  that  success  in  the 
practice  of  medicine  was  for  him  unattainable. 
In  fact,  I  liked  the  study  of  medicine,  but  did 
not  like  the  ordinary  practice  of  it.  Having 
failed  of  success  as  a  general  practitioner  of 
medicine,  I  gave  it  up  to  become  an  ill-paid 

143 


THE  MIND-READER 

assistant  in  a  hospital  for  the  insane.  After 
three  years,  a  fortunate  chance  enabled  me  to 
become  resident  physician  to  the  Central  Peni 
tentiary.  Here  at  last  I  had  work  to  my  lik 
ing.  The  study  of  the  criminal  nature  deeply 
interested  me,  and  for  two  years  I  was  busy 
and  happy.  I  wrote  at  this  time  several 
papers  on  the  bodily  and  mental  peculiarities 
of  the  inmates  under  my  care.  One  of  these 
contributions  is  still  quoted  as  authoritative. 

The  life  in  a  jail  is  sure  in  the  end  to  sadden 
the  kindly  and  to  bring  to  the  most  hopefully 
optimistic  a  sense  of  failure. 

This,  my  third  venture,  ended  in  deepening 
disgust,  and  I  began  to  lose  interest  in  the 
work.  I  had,  in  fact,  one  unusual  quality — I 
knew  in  general  when  I  had  failed,  and  also 
why.  Beyond  this,  I  possessed  a  still  more 
uncommon  talent,  which  for  a  time  I  culti 
vated,  and  which  was  destined  to  play  a  part 
in  my  life  and  that  of  others.  I  was  called  a 
mind-reader.  I  never  so  labeled  an  undoubted 
power,  but  others  thus  described  it.  For  some 
years  at  times  I  amused  myself  when  travel- 

144 


THE  MIND-READER 

ing  by  the  use  of  this  faculty ;  but  at  last  I  gave 
up  doing  so  because  it  demanded  too  intense 
attention,  and  because  I  felt  that  to  pry  un 
asked  into  the  thoughts  of  another  was  hardly 
decent. 

When  one  day  I  was  waiting  in  the  outer  of 
fice  of  that  cousin  who  had  said  I  was  a  rolling 
stone,  I  saw  two  men  talking  on  the  pavement, 
and  set  myself  to  ascertain  what  they  were 
engaged  upon.  It  was  for  me  the  idle  play 
of  a  leisure  moment ;  but  when  my  cousin  came 
in,  I  said:  "Mr.  E —  will  offer  you  51  dol 
lars  for  X  Y  stock.  Ask  him  52 :  he  will  take 
it."  When  I  explained  to  him  how  I  knew 
this,  he  said  it  would  not  be  honest,  and 
whether  he  acted  in  accordance  with  his  state 
ment,  I  do  not  know.  I  went  away  thinking 
over  the  ethics  of  the  stock  market.  I  have 
always  declined  the  attribution  of  mystery  to 
the  power  I  was  believed  to  possess  and  laugh 
ingly  refused  to  be  investigated  by  psychical 
scientists,  who  had  heard  wild  accounts  of  my 
capacity. 

At  this  time,  being  melancholy  and  restless, 
145 


THE  MIND-READER 

I  went  one  day  into  the  park  for  one  of  the 
long,  solitary  cycle-rides  which  were  almost 
my  only  diversion.  While  I  was  spinning 
along,  deep  in  thought,  a  runaway  hack  flew 
by.  I  put  on  all  possible  speed,  and  came  up 
to  it  just  as  a  park  guard  caught  the  horses 
and  for  a  moment  turned  them  aside.  The 
carriage  struck  a  tree,  and  upset  with  a  crash 
of  broken  glass.  The  horses  broke  loose  and 
ran,  while,  the  park  guard  aiding,  we  got  out 
of  the  wreck  a  lean,  little  old  gentleman,  much 
bruised,  and  with  his  face  badly  cut  by  glass. 

For  a  moment  he  lay  dazed,  and  then  sit 
ting  up,  said,  "I  want  my  hat."  It  was  found. 
Then  he  stood  up.  "I  want  a  doctor." 

"I  am  one,"  I  said.  I  tied  a  handkerchief 
over  his  cut  forehead,  and,  aided  by  the  guard, 
put  him  in  a  cab  which  chanced  to  be  at  hand. 
I  got  in  after  him.  The  guard  stood  by  ex 
pectant.  Then  the  old  gentleman  took  out  a 
well-filled  wallet,  and  selecting  a  quarter  of  a 
dollar,  presented  it  to  the  guard,  who  threw  it 
into  the  cab  with  an  accompaniment  of  vigor 
ous  English,  which  I  thought  well  deserved. 

146 


THE  MIND-READER 

My  companion  said:  "Drive  on.  I  ought 
to  report  that  man  for  insolence."  With  this 
he  picked  up  the  money  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
"Girard  Hotel,"  he  said,  "and  tell  him  to 
hurry." 

As  we  drove  away,  I  said,  "You  are  not 
much  injured." 

"Oh,  it 's  the  shock.  I  have  a  bad  heart, 
and  I  am  old — I  mean,  I  am  not  young." 

A  queer  figure  he  seemed  to  me.  He  was 
short,  singularly  thin,  and  as  red  as  if  rouged. 

"Pay  the  cabman,  doctor,"  he  ordered  me. 

I  did,  but  I  never  again  saw  the  money. 

I  soon  found  that  my  patient  was  nervous 
and  alarmed.  He  insisted  upon  my  remain 
ing  all  night,  and  as  he  had  a  very  feeble  circu 
lation  and  a  diseased  heart,  it  was  as  well  to 
oblige  him.  He  would  have  no  consultation, 
as  it  was  too  expensive,  and  he  was  satisfied 
with  me.  Neither  did  he  want  any  one  of  his 
family  sent  for;  and  so  I  fought  it  out  alone. 

As  he  grew  better,  he  talked  to  me  of  my 
own  life  with  a  degree  of  freedom  and  interest 
which  I  could  not  then  comprehend,  and  which 


THE  MIND-READER 

I  did  not  relish.  For  some  reason  he  took  to 
me,  one  of  those  fancies  to  which  the  neurotic 
are  subject,  and  after  two  weeks  of  grave  ill 
ness  told  me  that  I  was  the  only  doctor  who 
had  ever  understood  his  constitution. 

When  about  to  leave,  he  said:  "We  must 
now  settle  our  accounts.  There  were  sixty- 
three  visits  at  one  dollar  each/'  He  had  noted 
them  daily,  even  to  the  length  of  my  stays. 

"One  dollar!  Three/'  I  said;  "and  the 
nights  I  spent — it  comes  to — " 

"Don't  mention  it.  Good  heavens!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "It  is  enormous.  I  can  not  bear 
shock.  I  have  a  proposal  to  make.  You  tell 
me  you  are  tired  of  your  present  life,  and  you 
are  a  lover  of  books.  If  I  secure  for  you  a 
place  in  the  Brookmead  library  at  twelve  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year,  will  you  accept  that  in 
payment  of  the  large  sum  you  propose  to  ex 
act?  I  shall  expect  you  to  take  care  of  me." 
My  first  reflection  was  that  he  meant  to  get 
away  without  any  kind  of  payment,  but  I  soon 
saw  that  the  offer  was  honest.  I  was  of 
course  rather  astounded  at  the  scheme  of  mak- 

148 


THE  MIND-READER 

ing  the  library  pay  his  debt,  but  the  new  life 
thus  opened  to  me  was  entirely  to  my  taste. 

I  said:  "Frankly  speaking,  sir,  is  that  pos 
sible?" 

"Yes.  I  am  a  benefactor — I  mean,  I  am 
regarded  as  a  future  benefactor  of  the  library." 
He  chuckled.  "They  will  do  as  I  say,  and 
then,  when  I  want  you,  I  can  always  get  you." 

I  said  I  would  think  it  over,  but  had  no  idea 
it  would  come  to  anything.  I  had  heard  of 
the  library  as  important.  After  some  thought 
I  said  I  would  take  the  place.  After  he  had 
gone,  a  week  later,  to  my  surprise,  I  got  the 
offer,  and  promptly  accepted.  It  turned  out 
to  be  the  beginning  of  a  freshly  happy  and,  as 
it  proved,  a  somewhat  eventful  life.  I  had 
rolled  into  a  place  that  suited  me. 

On  my  arrival  I  was  able  to  satisfy  Mr. 
Quarton,  the  librarian,  in  regard  to  my 
scholarship.  As  concerned  my  technical  ca 
pacity  as  a  librarian,  that,  he  said,  was  of 
course  hopeless.  In  time  I  might  learn,  oh, 
something,  but  unless  a  man  had  two  genera 
tions  of  librarians  back  of  him,  it  was  of  no 


THE  MIND-READER 

use  to  pretend  to  achieve  greatness.  I  see  him 
now,  with  his  big,  inherited  horn  spectacles, 
his  long  gray  hair,  and  a  book  under  each 
arm. 

I  had  two  rooms  assigned  to  me,  with  a 
bath-room,  as  I  was,  to  my  pleasure,  to  live 
in  the  building.  My  duties  included  general 
oversight,  selection  of  such  scientific  books  as 
were  needed,  and  a  variety  of  lesser  matters. 

The  day  after  my  arrival  I  saw  my  patient, 
Mr.  White,  come  out  of  the  librarian's  room 
and  enter  the  office  assigned  to  me.  "Glad  to 
see  you  here,  doctor,"  he  said.  "I  am  going 
to  the  club,  No.  20  West  street.  Come  in  at 
seven  and  dine  with  me.  Quiet  place.  No 
form." 

I  said  I  would  come. 

"You  won't  get  much  to  eat,"  said  Quarton. 
"No  one  ever  dines  with  him  more  than  once. 
He  wants  to  consult  you ;  but  he  won't  ask  you 
to  come  to  his  house.  He  might  have  to  pay." 

"Then  he  is  a  miser,  I  suppose." 

"Miser!  Superlative  degree,  miserrimus!" 
152 


THE  MIND-READER 

said  Quarton,  who  hated  him.  "You'll  see. 
By  and  by  he  will  make  you  believe  he  has  re 
membered  you  in  his  will." 

This  was  a  long  speech  for  Mr.  Quarton, 
whose  name  much  amused  me.  "Never,"  said 
one  of  the  assistants — "never  ask  what  his 
Christian,  or  heathen,  name  is.  No  man 
knows  it.  He  signs  D.  Quarton." 

I  went  that  evening  to  the  Midway  Club, 
which  proved  to  be  comfortable,  and  not  too 
exclusive. 

On  my  way,  I  reflected  upon  Mr.  White  as 
a  curious  variety  of  the  genus  man.  During 
my  life  in  the  penitentiary, — where,  alas!  few 
were  penitent, — I  formed  a  habit  of  making 
notes  of  the  appearance  and  mental  and  moral 
characteristics  of  criminals,  and  this  habit 
proved  so  interesting  that  I  extended  it  to  the 
officers,  and  others  of  the  few  whom  I  met  out 
side. 

Of  course  Mr.  Reuben  White  had  his  place. 
He  was  now  becoming  a  fascinating  study. 
A  miser, — literally  wretched? — not  at  all. 

153 


THE  MIND-READER 

He  had  the  positive  joy  of  acquiring  and  the 
negative  joy  of  not  expending.  I  was  to  see 
and  know  more  of  him. 

Mr.  White's  welcome  was  most  cordial. 
He  had  a  well-contrived  manner  of  expressing 
his  pleasure  upon  meeting  you.  It  cost  him 
nothing,  but  somewhat  failed  by  reason  of  lack 
of  variety. 

As  a  contribution  to  my  knowledge  of  the 
man,  the  dinner  was  notable.  As  to  food,  we 
had  soup,  one  portion,  divided;  then  four  mut 
ton  chops  and  potatoes.  I  received  one  chop 
and  he  two.  He  was  long  in  chewing  his 
food,  having  a  theory  that  the  more  you  masti 
cated,  the  less  food  you  needed. 

He  talked  much  and  talked  well,  really  a 
cultivated  man.  I  was  thinking  that  I  should 
like  to  get  at  the  basal  motives  of  the  hoarding 
instinct,  if  it  be,  as  in  some  animals,  instinctive, 
when  I  saw  him  glance  about  the  room  to  see 
if  he  were  observed.  Apparently  satisfied, 
and  without  in  the  least  concerning  himself 
about  me,  he  rose,  went  out,  and  returning 
with  paper  from  the  club  writing-table, 

154 


•THAT,"  HE  SAID,  "WAS  OF  COURSE  HOPELESS' 


THE  MIND-READER 

wrapped  up  the  remaining  chop,  tied  it  in  his 
handkerchief,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "do  you  drink  coffee  at 
night?"  I  did'.  When  taking  his  cup,  he  se 
cured  four  lumps  of  sugar,  and  added  these  to 
his  store.  I  was  hungry,  but  delighted  with 
what  I  saw. 

I  was  all  this  while  regaled  at  times  with  his 
symptoms,  until  I  said  a  physical  examination 
would  be  required  and  must  be  made  while  he 
was  in  bed.  I  discovered  very  soon  that  my 
salary  was  meant  to  cover  all  the  medical  care 
Mr.  White  might  need.  The  skill  and  deli 
cacy  with  which  this  was  conveyed  to  me  was 
most  interesting,  and  as  he  gave  me  but  little 
trouble,  I  calmly  accepted  the  situation,  and, 
as  it  proved,  was  most  fortunate  in  having 
done  so. 

He  proposed  that  evening  to  put  me  up  at 
the  club  for  membership,  and  as  I  could  now 
afford  it,  I  was  pleased.  My  notes  of  him  that 
night  were:  "Lover  of  books;  greed  for  ac 
cumulation  of  money;  infinite  cunning  in  this 
pursuit." 

157 


THE  MIND-READER 

My  life  at  the  library  soon  satisfied  me. 
The  work  was  easy,  my  time  much  my  own. 
As  I  have  said,  I  had  had  no  opportunities  for 
acquiring  friends  or  even  acquaintances  to  my 
taste,  but  here  every  week  there  came  to  the 
library  a  great  many  persons  in  all  ranks  of 
life.  It  became  my  duty  to  know  some  of 
these  people,  especially  the  scholars,  and  gen 
erally  to  aid  any  one  in  pursuit  of  knowledge 
or  entertainment. 

Thus  it  was  that  while  I  was  interested  in 
the  books,  I  was  even  more  so  in  those  who 
read  them ;  for  much  as  books  have  been  to  me 
in  my  life,  people  are  still  more  entertaining; 
and  whether  as  comrades  or  counselors, 
whether  evil  or  good,  have  for  the  reader  of 
men  advantages  not  possessed  by  books. 

Mr.  White  was  in  the  library  every  day, 
and,  as  one  of  the  governing  board  from 
whom  much  was  expected,  he  was  treated  with 
far  too  great  consideration. 

About  the  fourth  month  of  my  residence,  a 
curious  incident  gave  me  a  notable  influence 
over  this  man  and  his  increased  respect. 

158 


THE  MIND-READER 

Mr.  Daingerfield,  one  of  our  managers,  a 
man  of  large  inherited  fortune,  was  the  rich 
man  of  the  city.  He  was  also  the  permanent 
president  of  the  hospital  board,  and  able  to 
indulge  the  luxury  of  giving  way  to  a  quick 
temper.  When  I  instantly  resented  an  im 
pertinent  criticism,  he  complained  to  the  di 
rectors  of  the  library;  but  as  Mr.  White  was 
expected  to  leave  money  to  both  hospital  and 
library,  his  intervention  saved  me. 

One  day  in  April  I  was  talking  to  a  young 
woman,  Miss  Musgrave,  about  a  book,  when 
I  saw  Mr.  Daingerfield  pass  by. 

Miss  Musgrave  said :  "Did  you  ever  see  so 
bald  a  man!  It  looks  so  nice  and  smooth. 
One  would  like  to  pat  it."  I  looked,  and  there 
was  the  face,  full-bearded, — even  to  the  heavy 
eyebrows,  snow  white, — with,  around  the  bald 
head,  a  tonsure  of  bright  red  hair.  "Really 
an  exotic,  that  crop!"  said  my  companion, 
laughing. 

Mr.  Daingerfield  came  upon  Mr.  White  near 
my  office,  and  White  began  to  talk.  They 
were  facing  us,  but  out  of  earshot.  Presently 

159 


THE  MIND-READER 

excusing  myself,  and  with  too  little  thought  of 
my  action,  I  went  up  to  them  and  said :  "I  can 
give  you  what  you  want,  Mr.  White.  The 
average  cost  of  hospital  patients  per  day  is 
from  $1.50  to  $1.60.  Children  cost  more." 
I  went  on  to  convey  in  full  the  required  infor 
mation,  and  then  retired  to  my  office. 

Presently  came  Mr.  White.  "Doctor  Al 
ston,"  he  said,  "did  you  hear  what  I  asked  Mr. 
Daingerfield?" 

"No,  I  did  not." 

"Then  how  did  you  know?" 

Meaning  to  amuse  myself,  I  said,  "Did  you 
ever  hear  of  mind-reading?" 

"Mind-reading!  Good  heavens,  sir,  it  is 
most  amazing !" 

"Yes,"  I  laughed.  "I  have  been  accused  of 
it  before ;  once  by  Mr.  Stevens,  the  cataloguer. 
He  did  not  like  it." 

"Nor  do  I,  sir.  I  want  you  to  promise 
never  to  try  it  with  me." 

"Oh,  I  can  readily  promise  that,  Mr.  White. 
It  is  rarely  that  I  use  this  faculty.  It  requires 
intense  concentration  of  attention." 

1 60 


THE  MIND-READER 

"I  am  relieved,  sir."  He  was  queerly  un 
easy.  "It  is  a  perilous  faculty,  Doctor  Alston. 
Imagine  such  a  power  to  become  general! 
What  a  state  of  things  there  would  be !  Aw 
ful,  sir!  awful !"  That,  indeed,  was  my  own 
opinion,  and  I  have  often  since  then  amused 
myself  with  reflections  upon  the  social  and 
commercial  consequences  of  such  generalized 
universal  insight. 

Henceforth  Mr.  White  treated  me  with  in 
creased  respect,  and  at  times  regarded  me  with 
ill-concealed  suspicion.  Somehow  the  story 
got  out  and  created  interest,  which  I  did  not 
add  to  by  any  further  use  of  my  peculiar  en 
dowment,  nor  did  I  attempt  to  explain  it  when 
Mr.  White  reopened  the  subject. 

As  time  ran  on,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
a  man  who  attracted  me  as  no  one  else  did. 
He  was  George  Fernwood,  an  army  officer,  a 
captain  of  engineers,  engaged  upon  some  de 
fense  work  in  the  harbor.  I  sometimes  class 
ify  people  as  books.  Fernwood  was  one  of 
those  human  volumes  which,  admirably  edited 
by  events,  are  full  of  such  contrasts  as  make 

161 


THE  MIND-READER 

unusual  appeal  to  the  student  of  character. 
In  my  note-book  he  is  thus  described : 

George  Fernwood,  five  feet,  ten  -inches ;  neatly  made, 
a  certain  harmony  in  his  build.  Regular  features, 
bronzed  by  exposure.  General  expression  gentle  and, 
as  I  read  it,  something  of  a  look  of  appeal.  Mouth 
the  most  eloquent  feature.  Lip  lines  classic. 

Career — Success  as  engineer,  medal  of  honor  for 
gallant  action  in  Indian  battle.  So  set  .down  in  the 
army  list. 

Studies — primary,  scientific ;  secondary,  history,  es 
pecially  of  the  mystics;  rarely  fiction. 

Character — Courage,  physical,  perfect;  courage, 
moral,  unknown. 

Mind  of  high  order,  investigative.  Imagination  of 
sympathetic  type,  not  productive. 

Manners,  courteous ;  a  gentleman,  a  man  to  trust. 

This  was  my  record  after  several  months  of 
increasing  intimacy  during  which  I  discov 
ered  that  after  a  time  the  rate  of  acquaintance 
with  him  had  limitations  such  as  in  my  experi 
ence  are  often  found  in  the  finer  natures.  A 
word  is  needed  to  fill  the  descriptive  gap  be 
tween  "acquaintance"  and  "friend."  He  evi 
dently  liked  me,  but  my  sly  gifts  of  self-revela- 

162 


THE  MIND-READER 

tion  were  not  returned  in  kind.  About  this 
there  was  something  not  unpleasingly  woman 
like,  and  thus  for  a  long  time  we  drew  no 
closer  until  certain  events  took  place  which 
materially  affected  his  life  and  mine.  In 
chemistry  it  sometimes  happens  that  two  sub 
stances  which  decline  to  unite  are  of  a  sudden 
brought  to  do  so  owing  to  the  added  presence 
of  a  third  quite  neutral  body.  In  life  a  similar 
thing  happens;  a  word,  a  thought,  another's 
act,  some  trifle,  abruptly  alters  the  inter-rela 
tion  of  two  people. 

It  so  chanced  with  us.  There  are  friends 
whom  we  acquire  through  the  unthinking  in 
timacies  of  childhood  or  owing  to  business  or 
family  relations.  There  are  others  whom,  if 
we  are  wise  in  the  art  of  life,  we  deliberately 
woo  or  win  for  some  good  reason.  Of  late, 
being  now  at  ease,  I  had  begun  to  cultivate 
the  art  of  friendly  capture,  but,  as  concerned 
the  Captain,  I  was  for  a  time  unsuccessful. 
We  dined  together  at  the  club  now  and  then, 
or,  what  I  liked  better,  we  spent  an  evening 
in  my  modest  apartments.  Here  we  talked  of 

163 


THE  MIND-READER 

Indian  war,  of  books  and  politics;  but  of  his 
family,  his  more  intimate  life,  and  his  opinions 
on  religion,  I  learned  nothing.  Nevertheless, 
I  felt  rather  than  knew  that  we  were  slowly 
drawing  together. 


164 


II 

ONE  evening,  I  asked  him  to  my  rooms, 
meeting  him  down-stairs.  We  walked 
through  the  vast  book-lined  reading-hall,  now 
silent  and  dark  except  for  the  oblongs  of  moon 
light  cast  across  the  floor. 

I  paused  midway  and  said:  "Isn't  there 
something  solemn  and  ghostly  in  this  great 
columbarium  of  dead  thought?" 

"I  feel  it  now,  but  I  hardly  think  that  I 
should  have  had  the  idea  without  your  help 
ing.  I  suppose  that  an  immense  number  of 
these  volumes  will  be,  are,  indeed,  for  scores 
of  years  as  unread  by  man  as  are  the  present 
thoughts  of  the  dead,  if  the  dead  still  think." 

"But  they  do  speak  here,  and  a  great  library 
should  give  at  any  cost  the  rare  book  some 
scholar  asks  for  and  must  have.  You  of  all 
men,  who  want  the  rarer  books,  must  know 
that." 

165 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Yes,"  he  returned  as  we  entered  my  room, 
and  I  turned  on  and  lighted  the  gas — "yes,  I 
suppose  that  I  illustrated  the  rare  need  last 
week  when  I  asked  for  the  four  volumes  of 
that  fine  mystic,  Robert  Fludd.  The  old  fel 
low  who  found  these  for  me  said  that  in  twenty 
years  he  had  never  known  them  to  be  asked 
for.  That  he  could  be  so  sure,  struck  me  as 
interesting.  And  he  knew,  too,  the  number 
and  place  of  the  book." 

"That  form  of  memory  is  not  very  rare  in 
old  librarians.  I,  of  course,  do  not  possess  it. 
Did  Fludd  amuse  you?" 

"Yes.  I  wanted  to  see  what  he  says  on  the 
pulse.  You  may  think  that  odd.  His  astrol 
ogy  was  also  of  interest.  I  had  a  pleasant 
morning  over  his  doctrine  of  nativities." 

Then  I  cast  a  cunning  fly.  I  said:  "Rare 
as  Fludd  is,  a  woman  asked  for  it  yesterday. 
She  usually  waits  until  she  can  get  me  to  sup 
ply  her  wants.  I  set  Master  Fludd  before  her, 
but  she  soon  returned  it,  remarking  that  she 
had  not  known  it  was  in  Latin." 

"Curious  that,"  said  Fernwood. 
166 


THE  MIND-READER 

I  thought  I  might  venture  further,  and  as 
I  stood  by  the  fire  filling  my  pipe,  I  said:  "As 
a  coincidence  it  is  even  more  than  curious ;  for 
twice,  just  after  you  have  asked  for  some  rare 
book,  Miss  Musgrave  has  inquired  for  it. 
Last  month  it  was  Lea  on  Trial  by  Ordeal/ 
That  did  seem  rather  a  queer  choice  for  a 
young  woman." 

"Yes,  rather,"  he  returned;  "quite  unusual." 

I  began  to  understand,  but  as  he  thus 
quickly  turned  the  talk  aside,  I  did  not  gain 
much  beyond  a  pleasant  suspicion  of  there  be 
ing  some  close  relation  between  the  two  read 
ers.  I  knew  little  of  the  social  life  of  the  great 
city,  and  my  own  acquaintances  were  chiefly 
such  as  I  met  at  the  club,  which  was  a  some 
what  informal  organization  where  one  was  not 
denied  by  cold  usage  the  privilege  of  address 
ing  a  stranger.  A  day  or  two  later  I  chanced 
to  sit  at  luncheon  next  to  a  cheerful  old  man, 
who  in  twenty-five  minutes  asked  me  a  dozen 
questions. 

Mr.  Burke  was  a  bachelor  without  other 
business  than  that  of  a  collector  and  freight- 


THE  MIND-READER 

carrier  of  harmless  gossip,  and  was  the  much- 
used  friend  of  a  dozen  women.  In  these 
gentle  pursuits  he  exhibited  the  proverbial  in 
dustry  of  the  bee.  In  the  absence  of  a  handy 
year-book  of  genealogy,  his  accurate  knowl 
edge  of  the  limited  social  groups  of  long-seated 
American  families  was  usually  to  be  trusted, 
and  his  amiable  reticence  a  not  unpleasing 
trait,  although  at  times  he  could  be  mildly  ma 
licious. 

"Good  wine  that,  Dr.  Alston.  By  the  way, 
your  people  must  be  South  Carolinians." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "my  father  was;  but  he  settled 
in  Pennsylvania." 

"Good  breed,  sir.  Know  Mrs.  Merton? 
I  disturbed  her,  I  fear — Colonial  Dame:  told 
her  some  of  their  genealogies  were  more 
genial  than  logical.  Good  that,  wasn't  it?" 
I  laughed  assent. 

"One  of  them — oh,  no  names — one  of  them 
asked  me  about  her  right  to  belong  to  that 
queer  society.  Told  her  that  her  great  grand 
father  in  1713  married  his  deceased  wife's 

168 


"TOLD  HER  SOME  OF  THEIR  GENEALOGIES  WERE  MORE  GENIAL  THAN  LOGICAL' 


THE  MIND-READER 

sister.     Know  the  English  law?     Make  your 
inference." 

I  did.  Then  I  said,  "Do  you  know  Miss 
Musgrave?"  I  was  after  information. 

"Know  her?  Of  course;  niece  of  Mrs. 
Merton,  charming  girl.  Father  old  friend  of 
mine — dead.  Got  a  fair  fortune;  not  much. 
Engaged  to  army  officer.  Good  fellow;  damn 
poor  match.  Know  her?" 

I  said,  "Yes,  slightly."  There  was  no  need 
to  pump.  The  flow  was  easy,  ample.  Did  I 
know  that  army  man,  name  of  Fernwood? 

I  said,  "Yes,"  and  thought  the  woman  for 
tunate. 

He  did  not  agree  with  me.  "That  man  has 
no  common  sense."  Had  I  never  heard  about 
it? 

I  said  no,  which  seemed  to  please  my 
neighbor. 

He  said:  "Tell  you  about  it.  Has  an 
uncle,  old  skinflint,  about  eighty  years  old, 
Reuben  White.  He  offered  your  Captain  to 
leave  him  all  his  fortune  if  he  would  give  up 
the  army  and  live  with  him." 

171 


THE  MIND-READER 

"And,"  I  asked,  "give  up  the  woman?" 

"No;  but  marry  and  live  with  him.  The 
Captain  won't  do  it.  Now  that  does  seem 
silly.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"No.  She  would  starve,  and  Mr.  White 
may  live  for  years  and  make  a  dozen  wills." 
But  beyond  that  I  said  I  had  no  material  for 
judging. 

"Well,  it  Js  simple.  The  old  man  tells  every 
one  about  it.  He  has  never  given  away  a  dol 
lar, — says  he  can't, — and  is  so  pleased  with  his 
generous  post-mortem  intentions  that — well, 
he  told  me  all  about  it  at  a  board  meeting  last 
week.  The  Captain  was  to  leave  the  army 
and  to  live  with  him  and  take  care  of  his  estate 
till  he  dies.  Then  he  was  to  get  it  all;  the 
Captain  to  marry  or  not,  as  he  pleased. 
Would  n't  you  accept?" 

I  said:  "No.  He  asks  a  man  already  dis 
tinguished  to  give  up  all  his  reasonable  ambi 
tions,  and,  if  he  married,  to  submit  his  wife  to 
the  certainty  of  a  miser's  whims  and  mean 
ness.  I  am  sure  that  Captain  Fernwood  will 

172 


THE  MIND-READER 

not  do  it;  besides,  White  promises  the  library 
and  the  hospital.     .You  can't  trust  him." 

"Well,  Fernwood  won't,  and  the  old  man  is 
furious.  Three  days  ago  I  witnessed  the  will 
he  made.  He  informed  us  with  pride  that  he 
had  drawn  the  will  himself.  In  fact,  he  had 
studied  law  when  young.  He  told  his  nephew 
in  my  presence  that  he  had  left  him  ten  thou 
sand  dollars.  Oh,  by  the  way,  he  had  old 
Quarton  there  as  a  witness.  It  seems  he 
thought  he  had  to  sign  his  name  in  full. 
Asked  me  if  he  must.  Of  course  I  said  yes. 
Lord!  he  hated  it;  but  he  signed  at  last,  Duo 
decimo  Quarton.  That,  he  explained,  was  be 
cause  he  was  such  a  little  baby.  Lord,  I  was 
sorry  for  him.  You  see,  his  father  was  a 
librarian.  Oh,  about  the  will.  He  tells 
everybody  that  a  large  part  goes  to  the  Cen 
tral  Hospital  and  that  he  has  remembered 
other  charities.  This  was  all  in  Mr.  White's 
bedroom.  The  Captain  locked  the  will  in  the 
desk,  and  gave  the  key  to  his  uncle,  but  said, 
'Better  put  it  in  the  trust  company's  safe.' 

173 


THE  MIND-READER 

Then  the  Captain  took  away  some  bills  and 
checks  to  pay  them.  He  did  not  seem  angry. 
That  old  fellow  uses  him,  I  can  assure  you. 
What  a  fool !" 

"No,"  I  said,  "he  had  made  his  choice/' 

"But  think  of  it — a  million  or  two!  I  can 
admire  such  virtue;  I  could  not  imitate  it." 

He  went  out  to  radiate  news  elsewhere, 
murmuring,  "Extraordinary,  most  extraordi 
nary!" 

A  day  or  two  later  the  Captain  came  to  my 
room  in  the  evening,  and  for  the  first  time 
without  an  invitation.  I  was  pleased  with  this 
sign  of  desire  for  my  company,  and  as  usual 
we  fell  into  talk  which  took  wide  ranges  of 
interest.  At  last  he  asked  me  where  he  could 
find  the  singular  Chinese  doctrines  of  the 
pulse,  explaining,  what  I  had  not  as  yet  heard, 
that  while  in  Philadelphia  on  duty  he  had  at 
tended  medical  lectures,  a  dangerous  study  for 
a  sensible  layman.  I  referred  him  to  Sir  John 
Floyer's  "Pulse  Watch,"  and  then  said,  "By 
the  way,  you  spent  some  time  over  Fludd's 
book." 

174 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"Well,  as  I  mentioned,  Miss  Musgrave  asked 
for  it  later." 

"Yes;  rather  peculiar  for  a  woman,  wasn't 
it?" 

"Rather.  I  do  not  fancy  she  enjoyed  it. 
The  queerest  thing  is  that,  since  she  returned 
it  a  month  ago,  it  was  asked  for  by  a  stranger, 
and  has  disappeared.  That  is,  one  of  the 
volumes — the  one  which  contains  illustra 
tions.  This  is  a  not  uncommon  form  of  theft, 
and  of  late  we  have  suffered  several  such 
losses." 

"What  can  you — what  do  you  do?" 

"I  was  asked  to  take  up  the  whole  matter. 
I  employed  a  clever  detective.  He  failed  me 
entirely,  but  my  luck  did  not.  I  saw  in  the 
'Review  of  Psychology/  published  in  Chi 
cago,  an  essay  on  mystics  in  which  Fludd  was 
quoted  and  the  edition  given.  I  wrote  to  the 
author  who  courteously  returned  our  missing 
volume,  which  he  had  bought  from  a  scamp 
of  a  dealer  in  this  city.  I  set  my  detective  on 
the  track  and  he  will  be  here  shortly  with  two 

175 


THE  MIND-READER 

other  of  our  missing  books.  The  thief  was 
easily  traced,  and  is  now  awaiting  trial.  I 
should  think  this  tale  of  a  book's  adventures 
would  amuse  you." 

Then  the  talk  wandered  on  to  other  matters, 
and  quite  late  he  went  away. 

Two  days  after  this  talk,  Miss  Musgrave 
came  for  a  book.  After  getting  it,  she  said: 
"A  friend  of  mine  told  me  of  your  loss  of  that 
curious  book  by  Fludd.  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  it  again  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.  She  had  evidently  heard 
from  her  lover  of  our  talk,  for  she  remarked: 
"If  I  were  a  clever  writer,  I  should  write  the 
adventures  of  a  book — how  it  helped  this  one 
or  hurt  that  one/' 

"What  a  clever  idea!"  I  returned. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "if  ever  I  am  in  trouble  or 
have  lost  anything,  I  shall  come  to  you  for  ad 
vice.  I  think  you  were  ingenious.  Mr. 
Stevens  says  you  are  a  mind-reader." 

"Does  he?  Every  one  is  more  or  less  that, 
Miss  Musgrave.  Shall  I  try  to  read  your 
thoughts?" 

I76 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Oh,  no;  please  don't,"  and  she  went  away 
laughing. 

FERNWOOD'S  visits  became  frequent  and  the 
more  I  saw  of  him  the  better  did  I  like  him. 
At  last,  one  evening,  after  a  long  talk  and  just 
before  he  left  he  said:  "I  regret  that  I  shall 
very  soon  be  ordered  away  and  lose  both  the 
library  and  your  company  in  some  bookless 
Western  post.  However,  that  is  my  life,  and 
I  cannot  complain,  or  would  not  except  that — " 

As  he  paused,  I  said,  smiling:  "Except  for 
Miss  Musgrave."  I  liked  the  man,  and  was 
curiously  pleased  when  he  said:  "Then  you 
knew."  There  was  no  reason  why  I  should 
not  have  known  at  any  time  in  the  last  more 
intimate  months  unless  for  the  almost  feminine 
reserve  with  which  he  guarded  his  increas 
ingly  close  relations  with  me  and  others. 

I  said  in  reply  that  Mr.  Burke  had  told  me. 

"Yes,  all  of  Miss  Musgrave's  friends  know 
of  it.  If  you  talked  with  Burke," — and  he 
smiled, — "I  suppose  there  is  very  little  you  do 
not  know  either  about  her  or  me." 

177 


THE  MIND-READER 

I  laughed.  "Nothing  that  I  did  not  like. 
Nothing  that  is  not  common  property." 

"Yes,  the  old  fellow  is  generous  in  the  dif 
fusion  of  what  were  perhaps  better  left  untold. 
But  I  must  go.  I  shall  miss  you  much.  I  am 
engaged  to  Miss  Musgrave,  and  I  hope  soon 
to  be  married."  Then,  with  some  hesitation, 
he  added:  "Did  Mr.  Burke  speak  of  my 
uncle?" 

"He  did;  and  let  me  say,  as  you  open  the 
subject,  that  I  think  you  are  right.  It  is  in 
some  sense  a  sacrifice." 

"Oh,  no.  I  could  not  take  my  wife  to  live 
with  my  uncle.  How  could  I?  I  will  not 
give  up  my  profession.  Miss  Musgrave 
agrees  with  me.  It  is  in  no  sense  a  sacrifice. 
But  now  I  must  go.  Good  night !" 

"And  so,"  said  I  to  myself,  "I  have  made 
my  capture,  and  the  man  is  worth  the  trouble." 
And  now  I  was  to  lose  this  friend. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write  I  had  been 
thrown  very  little  with  women,  but  since  then, 
considering  the  question  of  the  values  of 
friendships,  I  conclude  that  the  best  friends 


THE  MIND-READER 

are  women  in  middle  age.  The  range  of  their 
values  is  other  than  that  of  men,  but  there  are 
many  things  of  which  one  may  talk  to  them 
and  which  with  men  one  approaches  in  a  spirit 
of  reserve.  Indeed,  as  I  have  elsewhere  said, 
women  are  the  natural  confessors  of  men. 

The  sudden  frank  opening  to  me  of  Fern- 
wood's  heart  was  a  disclosure  of  the  feminine 
traits  of  a  brave  and  reticent  man.  It  was,  in 
a  way,  a  compliment,  and  gratified  me,  as  all 
such  conquests  do,  and  the  more  so  because  in 
the  solitude  that  any  great  city  is  for  a  new 
comer  I  had  no  one  else  who  held  to  me  the 
relation  of  friend.  I  sat  with  my  pipe,  and 
wondered  what  manner  of  woman  was  Miss 
Musgrave.  I  had,  in  my  brief  official  ac 
quaintance,  found  her  an  interesting,  well-bred 
person,  evidently  of  a  social  class  which  had 
had  the  advantages  of  generations  of  ease  and 
training.  With  this  I  dismissed  her  and  her 
lover,  and  turned  to  some  deferred  library 
work,  little  dreaming  of  the  extent  to  which  I 
was  about  to  be  involved  in  their  lives. 

About  this  time  I  was  sent  to  a  remote  city 
179 


THE  MIND-READER 

to  attend  an  important  sale  of  books.  I  was 
kept  busy  for  four  days,  and  as  I  rarely  do 
more  than  glance  at  the  papers,  I  chanced  not 
to  observe  the  paragraphs  which  might  have 
prepared  me  for  the  disaster  of  which  I  learned 
upon  my  return. 

I  arrived  at  the  library  about  nine  in  the 
evening.  The  janitor  said :  "There  is  a  lady 
waiting  to  see  you,  sir.  She  is  in  your  room. 
She  has  been  there  an  hour.  As  she  often 
comes  to  get  books,  and  I  have  seen  you  talk 
ing  to  her,  I  let  her  into  your  study.  Have 
you  heard  the  awful  news  of  Mr.  White's 
death?" 

"No,  I  have  not.  I  am  very  sorry."  Then 
in  haste  I  went  up-stairs,  with  an  inexplicable 
presentiment  of  calamity. 

When  I  entered  the  room,  a  maid  was  seated 
near  the  door.  Her  mistress,  Miss  Musgrave, 
rose  and  came  forward  to  meet  me,  saying: 

"It  seemed  to  me  as  if  you  would  never 
come.  Can  you  give  me  a  half-hour?  I — 
we  are  in  great  trouble,  and  Captain  Fernwood 
has  asked  me  to  see  you."  Then  as  I  said, 

180 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Of  course,"  she  asked  the  maid  to  wait  for 
her  down-stairs.  When  alone,  I  said,  "What 
is  the  trouble?" 

"You  have  not  heard?" 

"No.  I  have  been  away.  Tell  me,  is  he 
ill?" 

"Yes,  and  worse,  and  we  were  so  happy. 
It  seems  incredible  that  you  have  never  heard. 
It  is  too  awful,"  she  exclaimed. 

It  seemed  to  me  natural  that  she  should  at 
once  inform  me,  but  there  was  a  half-evident 
desire  to  put  it  off.  Indeed,  for  a  moment  she 
was  silent,  as  if  gathering  resolution.  I 
waited  and  then  said : 

"Now,  Miss  Musgrave,  tell  me  quietly  and 
fully  what  is  the  matter,  and  let  me  say  that  I 
am  entirely  at  your  disposal." 

"He  said  so.  He  has  no  other  friends  here, 
no  family — oh,  I  said  once  I  should  come  to 
you  if  ever  I  needed  help !" 

"You  say  he  has  no  friends.  His  uncle,  I 
hear,  is  dead." 

"Good  heavens,  yes — murdered!" 

"Stop,"  I  said.  "I  know  nothing.  To  help 
181 


THE  MIND-READER 

you,  I  must  have  a  clear,  definite  statement." 

"Yes,  I  know.     I  see." 

She  sat  up  and  said  simply:  "This  is  all  we 
really  know.  On  Monday  last,  George  spent 
an  hour  with  me.  Then  he  went,  as  he  gen 
erally  did  at  least  every  other  night,  to  see  his 
uncle.  That  was  about  nine.  He  had  col 
lected  some  money  for  him  that  day.  He  put 
it  in  his  uncle's  desk,  noticed  his  will  lying  in 
it,  locked  the  desk,  and  put  the  key  in  his 
uncle's  waistcoat,  which  hung  on  a  chair. 
He  said,  'You  should  put  your  will,  sir,  in  the 
safe  at  the  Union  Trust  Company.'  Oh,  I 
can't  go  on!  You  must  see  Captain  Fern- 
wood  at  once,  please.  I  want  you  to  see 
George.  He  is  in  a  dreadful  state.  You  will 
see  him,  won't  you — at  once,  to-night?" 

I  said,  "Yes,  of  course.  Let  me  walk  home 
with  you." 

"No.  I  have  a  carriage.  1  will  leave  you 
at  George's." 

As  we  drove  along,  neither  spoke.  What 
she  could  not  or  would  not  speak  of  I  too  easily 

182 


THE  MIND-READER 

comprehended.  There  was  the  common  and 
often  terrible  situation  of  the  man  who  is 
known  to  have  been  last  with  the  murdered 
and  who  cannot  prove  an  alibi. 


183 


Ill 

NO  study  of  character  prepared  me  for  the 
effect  on  Fernwood.  Under  this  terror, 
the  woman  was  of  a  sudden  strong,  resolute, 
combative.  Under  it,  the  man  who  was  a 
proverb  in  his  corps  for  cool  courage  was 
broken,  nerveless,  and  timid. 

Indeed,  what  I  saw  as  I  entered  his  room 
was  enough  to  create  pity  and  to  make  it  need 
ful  to  exercise  the  large  charity  of  the  physi 
cian  to  lessen  the  sense  of  surprise  with  which 
one  saw  a  man  in  the  vigor  of  health  so  easily 
routed.  Long  pain  and  the  bodily  feebleness 
due  to  disease  or  wounds  often  take  from  a 
man  his  moral  weapons,  and  leave  him  with 
neither  sword  nor  shield.  But  this  man,  in 
the  midst  of  health  and  in  the  sunshine  of  a 
rare  woman's  love,  splendidly  able  to  put  aside 
wealth,  was  like  a  strong  battle-ship  on  the 
rocks,  a  helpless  prey  of  the  sea.  I  saw  it  all 

184 


THE  MIND-READER 

at  a  glance  as  I  entered  his  room.  He  sat 
crouched  low  in  a  chair  by  the  wood  fire,  with 
out  other  light.  As  I  approached,  he  turned 
his  head,  looked  at  me,  and  resumed  his  atti 
tude  of  defeat,  his  head  in  his  hands,  his  elbow 
on  his  knees.  I  went  to  the  mantel,  found  a 
match,  and  lighted  two  gas-jets.  Then  I 
drew  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  him.  He 
said  not  a  word  as  I  took  his  hand.  His  pulse 
was  eloquent  of  his  condition.  I  saw  at  once 
that  the  physician  must  prepare  the  way  for 
the  friend.  I  said :  "You  have  not  slept  and 
you  have  not  eaten/' 

"No.     Not  for  three  days." 

"Well,  that  won't  do.  I  want  to  talk  to  you, 
but  now  you  are  in  no  fit  case  for  talk.  Come 
with  me  to  my  rooms." 

"No;  I  am  watched.     I  should  be  arrested." 

I  persisted,  and  at  last  he  consented;  but  he 
staggered  as  he  rose,  saying,  "It  is  useless," 
and  yet  he  went. 

When  at  last  we  were  in  my  study,  I  made 
him  take  a  pretty  stiff  glass  of  whisky  and, 
with  more  difficulty,  a  couple  of  biscuits.  The 

185 


THE  MIND-READER 

influence  of  the  stimulus  was  interesting  and 
rapid.  I  said  but  little,  and  nothing  of  the 
cause  of  his  condition.  But  after  some  twenty 
minutes  he  sat  up  and  said:  "Do  you  think 
they  followed  us?"  and  then:  "I  wish  you 
would  lock  the  door."  It  was  childlike,  but  I 
did  so.  Then  I  returned  to  my  seat,  and 
quietly  lighted  my  pipe  and  waited.  Five 
minutes  went  by  before  he  said:  "Why  did 
you  make  me  come  here?  They  will  think  I 
ran  away." 

"No.  I  shall  say  where  you  are.  You 
must  stay  with  me." 

"May  I  have  some  more  whisky?" 

"Certainly." 

He  took  it  again,  and  of  his  own  will  ate 
greedily  of  the  biscuits.  We  were  silent.  In 
the  way  the  stimulus  and  food  restored  the 
man's  moral  vigor  with  the  physical  gain  in 
strength,  there  was  something  which  I  felt 
should  have  given  him  a  reproachful  sense  of 
humiliation  at  the  ease  with  which  he  had  been 
crushed.  He  said  suddenly,  "Would  you 
mind  if  I  smoked?" 

186 


THE  MIND-READER 

"No,"  I  said,  and  gave  him  a  cigar.  "And 
now  let  us  talk.  You  must  tell  me  all  about 
it.  You  sent  for  me,  and  I  came.  I  am  your 
friend,  and  with  what  I  have  heard  I  am  pre 
pared,  as  you  are  not,  to  consider  calmly  this 
absurd  situation.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  get  ex 
cited  or  explain  or  reason  on  the  case.  Give 
me  the  cold  facts.  Can  you,  or  shall  we  wait 
until  to-morrow?" 

"Oh,  no;  I  do  not  want  to  wait.  I  am  abso 
lutely  alone  here.  I  have  no  man  but  you  to 
whom  I  can  turn.  I  do  not  make  friends 
easily.  My  uncle  was  my  only  relative.  I 
want  to  ask  advice.  I  want  to  know  how  it 
looks  to  you.  Miss  Musgrave's  aunt  is  use 
less,  of  course.  I  have  no  one — no  one." 

I  saw  how  vast  was  the  artificial  gain  of  the 
hour ;  I  knew,  too,  that  it  would  not  last. 

"Go  on,"  I  said.  He  laid  down  his  cigar, 
and  went  on  to  state  with  amazing  absence  of 
visible  emotion  the  whole  tragic  story. 

"About  two  weeks  from  the  time  he  made 
his  will,  on  Monday  night,  I  gave  my  uncle 
$745.50,  a  delayed  payment  of  interest  which 


THE  MIND-READER 

I  had  collected  on  a  mortgage.  You  may  not 
know  that  he  has  made  this  kind  of  use  of  me 
ever  since  I  came  to  the  city.  At  first  he  used 
to  say  it  was  merely  taking  care  of  my  own 
property,  but  since — " 

Here  I  said:  "Do  not  explain.  That  may 
come  later.  Now  I  want  only  the  recent  bare 
facts." 

"Very  well,  you  shall  have  them." 

My  witness  was  still  improving. 

"When  I  called  on  Monday  night,  my  uncle 
was  in  bed.  Of  late  he  was  much  of  the  time 
in  bed.  I  put  the  money  in  his  desk,  and 
locked  it  and  put  the  key  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  I  said,  'I  see  your  will,  sir,  is  still  in 
the  desk/  It  was  in  an  envelop,  labeled  and 
sealed.  I  said,  'It  should  be  in  your  bank 
safe.'  He  said,  'Yes;  I  shall  see  to  that  to 
morrow.  You  have  only  to  change  your 
mind,  and  I  will  burn  that  will/ 

"I  said  no,  and  that  I  begged  he  would  not 
reopen  a  question  to  which  I  could  make  only 
one  reply.  He  said  I  was  a  fool.  I  made  no 
answer.  The  fact  is,  I  think  that — " 

188 


THE  MIND-READER 

Once  again  I  broke  in.  "Facts,"  I  said, 
t4facts." 

This  time  the  man  actually  smiled  as  he  re 
turned,  "What  are  you  doing?" 

I  had  taken  up  pencil  and  note-tablet. 

"I  am  about  to  take  down  in  shorthand 
what  you  tell  me." 

I  was  fairly  expert  at  this. 

"Go  on." 

"I  read  the  larger  part  of  the  stock-list  to 
my  uncle  and  one  or  two  editorials.  After 
this,  as  he  was  evidently  sleepy,  I  said: 
'Good  night,  sir.  Don't  forget  to  bolt  your 
door/ 

"The  old  housemaid,  his  only  servant,  had 
gone  to  bed.  In  the  hall  I  saw  that  the  tall 
clock  was  marking  eleven.  I  put  out  the  gas 
and  wrent  away,  leaving  the  hall  door,  as  usual, 
unlocked,  the  maid  having  gone  to  bed.  I 
think  I  said  that  it  was  a  common  occurrence. 
I  walked  to  my  rooms,  let  myself  in,  and  see 
ing  no  one,  went  to  bed. 

"At  half  after  seven  in  the  morning  I  was 
awakened  and  told  that  a  policeman  wanted  to 


THE  MIND-READER 

see  me.  I  dressed  in  haste,  and  found  the  man 
outside. 

"He  said,  'Mr.  Fernwood,  your  uncle  was 
found  dead  on  the  floor  this  morning/ 

"He  had  not  seen  him,  and  could  tell  me 
nothing  more.  I  found  two  policemen  in  the 
hall,  and  up-stairs  in  the  room  a  captain  of  po 
lice  and  others. 

"I  said,  1  am  Captain  Fernwood,  Mr. 
White's  nephew/  My  uncle  lay  in  his  night 
dress,  dead  on  the  floor,  his  head  near  the  fire 
place,  and  close  by  the  poker.  There  was  a 
cut  on  his  left  temple.  I  was  about  to  feel  it, 
to  see  if  there  were  a  fracture,  when  the  cap 
tain  of  police  said:  'Don't  touch  him.  The 
coroner  will  be  here/ 

"I  rose,  and  the  man  said:  'It  may  have 
been  an  accident  or  a  murder.  The  desk  has 
been  broken  open/ 

"I  turned,  and  saw  that  it  had  been  rudely 
handled.  It  was  open,  the  money  gone,  and 
the  will  also.  I  looked  about  among  the  few 
other  papers  which  lay  scattered  on  the  floor, 
but  was  warned  to  touch  nothing.  I  felt  sure, 

190 


THE  MIND-READER 

however,  that  the  will  was  not  among  them. 
Then  for  the  first  time  I  began  to  feel — " 
"Stop,"  I  said.  "Stick  to  the  facts." 
"I  sat  down  and  waited.  It  was  hours  be 
fore  the  coroner  came,  and  late  in  the  after 
noon  before  the  inquest  was  held.  I  never  left 
the  house.  At  the  inquest  the  maid  swore  to 
my  presence  the  night  before,  to  ignorance  as 
to  when  I  had  left,  and  to  finding  the  chamber 
door  unlocked  at  7  A.M.,  when,  as  usual,  she 
went  to  call  Mr.  White,  and,  seeing  him  on  the 
floor,  ran  screaming  into  the  street.  The 
street  door  was  often  left  unlocked.  I  told  you 
that. 

"I  stated  in  turn  the  facts  of  my  visit  and 
felt  at  once  that  I  had  better  speak  of  the  con 
tents  of  the  desk.  When  I  spoke  of  the  will, 
a  juror  desired  to  know  what  I  knew  about  it. 
I  said  it  left  me,  as  I  had  been  told,  by  my 
uncle,  ten  thousand  dollars,  the  maid  the  same 
amount,  the  rest  to  charities — or  at  least  so  my 
uncle  had  said.  What  else  there  was  I  had  not 
been  told.  A  juror  asked  if  Mr.  White  had 
other  near  relatives.  I  said  none.  I  was  then 

191 


THE  MIND-READER 

asked  concerning  my  relations  with  my  uncle. 
On  this  I  stated  the  circumstances  which  oc 
casioned  him  to  make  the  will.  Asked  if  we 
had  quarreled,  I  said  no;  he  had  been  liberal 
to  my  mother,  and  although  he  was  angry  and 
disappointed,  our  intercourse  had  remained 
pleasant,  on  my  part  at  least.  Asked  if  I  had 
felt  disappointed  about  the  will,  I  said  yes,  but 
that  I  considered  my  course  reasonable. 
Asked  if  there  were  no  will,  who  would  inherit, 
I  replied  that  I  should  in  that  case  be  the  sole 
heir.  During  the  day  I  was  not  allowed  to 
reenter  the  room.  A  post-mortem  section 
showed  that  the  wound  on  the  head  was  only 
a  surface  injury,  and  could  not  have  been  the 
cause  of  death.  He  might  have  been  struck, 
and,  as  he  was  over  eighty  years  old,  have 
fallen  when  hit,  and  died  easily  enough.  The 
verdict  stated  the  fact  of  the  robbery  and  the 
belief  of  the  jury  that  Reuben  White  came  to 
his  death  through  violence  at  the  hands  of  a 
person  or  persons  unknown." 

"Was  there/'  I  asked,  "any  evidence  of  bur 
glary?" 

192 


THE  MIND-READER 

"No.  The  maid,  who  herself  is  old  and 
stupid,  swore  that  she  had,  as  usual,  locked  up 
the  back  of  the  house  and  that  the  silver  on 
the  sideboard,  in  the  dining-room,  some  of  it 
old  and  valuable,  had  not  been  taken.  The 
only  taste  my  uncle  allowed  himself  was  for  old 
silver,  in  which  he  was  an  expert." 

"And  now,"  I  said,  "a  question  or  two.  Be 
careful  how  you  reply.  Did  you  tell  them  you 
locked  the  desk  and  where  you  put  the  key?" 

"Yes,  and  they  found  it.  A  juror  said, 
'Only  a  burglar,  a  man  in  fear  and  haste, 
would  have  broken  the  desk/  Another  said, 
'Unless  he  wanted  to  simulate  a  burglary,  and 
knew  all  the  while  where  to  look  for  the  key/ 
Here  the  coroner  stopped,  them,  but  it  was  clear 
that  everything  pointed  to  me  as  the  criminal. 
I  had  killed  my  uncle.  I  had  stolen  the  will. 

"I  went  away  horror-stricken.  I  walked 
from  place  to  place  and  far  out  into  the  coun 
try.  At  evening  I  came  home.  The  next  day 
I  forced  myself  to  go  to  the  house  and  arrange 
for  the  funeral.  The  maid  and  a  friend  of 
hers,  whom  she  had  asked  to  remain  with  her, 

193 


THE  MIND-READER 

stared  at  me  with  horrible  curiosity.  The  old 
woman  was  weeping  over  the  loss  of  her  leg 
acy.  I  left  them.  Before  night  I  became  sure 
that  I  was  shadowed.  My  God !  the  shadow  of 
a  murderer!  I  have  not  left  the  house  since. 
I  have  not  slept  at  all.  I  have  eaten  nothing 
in  two  days.  I  wrote  Miss  Musgrave  that  our 
engagement  was  at  an  end.  She  will  not  hear 
to  it.  She  came  to  see  me  at  once,  and  this  is 
all." 

My  pencil  had  been  busy.  I  had  had  no  time 
to  think. 

I  said  now :  "You  must  go  to  bed,  and  here 
in  my  room.  I  shall  send  for  your  things  to 


morrow." 


He  yielded  with  childlike  submissiveness. 
When  I  had  him  safe  in  bed,  I  brought  him  a 
tablespoonful  of  whisky  in  which  I  had  dis 
solved  a  small  dose  of  morphia.  I  closed  the 
door  and  sat  down  to  think,  and  the  more  I 
thought,  the  less  I  liked  the  outlook.  At  last 
I  tried  to  put  myself  in  his  place.  If  he  had 
meant  to  steal  the  will,  it  was  at  any  time  easy 
but  useless  and  perilous  to  do  so  while  his  uncle 

194 


THE  MIND-READER 

lived.  Suppose  him  to  have  lingered  in  the 
house  intending  later  to  kill,  and  been  con 
fronted  by  his  uncle  awake,  the  rest  would  fol 
low.  I  had  gone  along  a  track  which  would 
be  surely  that  of  any  one  who  did  not  know 
Fernwood.  To  me  it  was  inconceivable.  But 
what  next?  Burglary.  The  old  man  wakes, 
is  struck  down.  The  desk  is  opened,  the 
money  found.  I  put  myself  in  the  burglar's 
mental  skin.  I.  see  the  will.  It  is  labeled, 
"Will  of  Reuben  White."  I  read  it  by  my 
lantern.  I  am  intelligent  enough  to  know  its 
possible  value.  In  my  dread  of  discovery,  and 
with  the  dead  man  at  my  feet,  I  make  haste  to 
leave.  But  why  neglect  the  silver  ?  Here  my 
venture  into  the  stranger  land  of  an  unknown 
man's  personality  failed  me.  As  I  have  said, 
my  essays  on  criminal  character  which  at 
tracted  much  attention  some  years  ago,  had 
been  the  result  of  long  study  and  much  experi 
ence  when  I  was,  as  a  younger  man,  in  medical 
charge  of  the  Central  Penitentiary. 

It  is  easy  to  classify  criminal  types,  but  no 
experience  of  the  class  and  the  genera  and 

195 


THE  MIND-READER 

species  will  enable  one  entirely  to  understand 
surely  the  motives  which  govern  them  while 
engaged  in  illegal  acts.  Here  as  elsewhere  in 
life  the  ever-present  factor  of  individual  differ 
ence  may  make  prediction  difficult. 

In  the  case  I  now  considered  there  was  ac 
tion  which  seemed  to  me  unlike  that  of  the 
ordinary  burglar.  By  this  time  I  had  begun 
to  be  deeply  interested.  Both  head  and  heart 
were  in  the  game  which  any  friend  of  Fern- 
wood  must  play  against  the  theory  I  was  sure 
the  police  would  hold.  I  knew  that  I  should 
need  help,  and  that  I  should  like  to  go  over  the 
house  of  the  dead  man.  I  wrote  a  note,  ask 
ing  Mr.  South,  the  detective,  to  call  on  me  dur 
ing  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  and  went  out 
and  mailed  it. 

On  my  return  I  assured  myself  that  Fern- 
wood  was  asleep.  At  six  next  morning  I 
called  him.  He  was  confused  for  a  moment  as 
he  came  out  of  the  borderland  between  sleep 
and  the  wakened  state.  He  said:  "I  was 
bothered  for  a  little  by  my  surroundings,  but 

I96 


THE  MIND-READER 

now  I  am  better.     What  a  fool  I  was  yester 
day!" 

"Do  not  talk,"  I  said.     "Dress.     The  bath 
is  ready.     We  can  talk  at  breakfast." 


IV 

WHEN  he  entered  my  study,  although  pale 
and  anxious-looking,  he  was  better  than 
I  could  have  expected.  The  janitor's  wife  pro 
vided,  as  usual,  coffee,  eggs,  and  bread  and  but 
ter.  He  sat  down,  and  with  too  obvious  as 
sumption  of  his  usual  courteous  manner 
apologized  for  the  trouble  he  had  given.  I  de 
clined  to  talk  of  his  present  situation,  and  when 
he  had  finished  a  fairly  good  meal,  I  said, 
"Come  with  me."  He  was  at  once  alarmed, 
and  I  saw  that  he  was  still  far  from  the  state  of 
competence  I  desired. 

However,  we  went  down-stairs,  I  saying: 
"You  use  the  wheel.  I  have  borrowed  our 
janitor's.  I  have  mine." 

He  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and  see 
ing  no  one,  mounted.  We  went  away  some 
four  miles  into  the  country,  and  then  back,  and 
I  saw,  as  we  returned,  that  the  exercise  had 

198 


THE  MIND-READER 

brought  color  into  his  face.  He  remonstrated 
as  I  turned  away  from  the  library,  and  cross 
ing  the  still  quiet  city,  stopped  at  the  door  of 
his  uncle's  house.  Fernwood  hesitated,  but 
when  I  insisted,  rang  the  bell.  The  old  woman 
who  let  us  in  looked  at  him  as  if  in  doubt  and 
said :  "I  was  n't  to  let  any  one  in.  That 's 
what  the  police  said."  The  man  in  charge  had 
gone  away  for  his  breakfast. 

I  replied,  "The  Captain  has  every  right  to 
go  where  he  pleases  in  this  house,  and  I  am 
his  friend."  She  grumbled  about  our  getting 
her  into  trouble,  but  as  I  insisted,  went  with  us, 
while  I  inspected  the  house  with  care.  I 
learned  nothing  of  value.  Last  I  went  into 
the  room  of  the  dead  owner.  Fernwood  looked 
about  him,  and  then  abruptly  turned  and  went 
out.  The  old  woman  said  to  me,  "He's 
afraid,  and  I  don't  wonder."  She  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  he  was  suffering  the  terror  of 
guilt.  I  said:  "Nonsense!  The  man  is  ill." 

I  had  gained  nothing  by  my  visit.  I  saw 
that  in  my  desire  to  utilize  his  knowledge  of 
the  house,  I  had  only  learned  how  deeply  he 

199 


THE  MIND-READER 

was  wounded  and  how  close  he  had  come  to 
the  boundaries  beyond  which  a  man  may  not 
pass  without  becoming  a  minority  of  one  in  the 
country  of  the  sane. 

I  said,  "Come  back  with  me  a  moment." 
When  within,  I  asked  to  go  once  more  into  the 
dining-room.  I  said,  "Susan,  where  was  the 
silver  kept?" 

"Oh,  some  in  the  bank  and  some  here  on  the 
sideboard.  It  was  all  right  that  morning.  I 
cleaned  it  the  day  before.  He  was  mighty  par 
ticular  about  that." 

"Where  is  it  now?" 

"I  put  it  away,  there  were  so  many  people 
about." 

"Could  I  see  it?" 

A  five-dollar  note  relieved  her  mind,  and  we 
went  up-stairs.  It  was  in  flannel  bags.  I 
looked  it  over  piece  by  piece.  At  last  I  care 
fully  studied  a  fine  Queen  Anne  tankard. 

Then  the  old  woman  said:  "That  was  on  a 
chair  the  morning  after  the  murder.  I  might 
have  set  it  there.  No,  burglars  would  n't  have 
left  this  silver." 

200 


"SUSAN,   WHERE  WAS  THE  SILVER  KEPT?" 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Some  one  has  handled  it,"  I  said. 

"Well,  I  did  n't,  except  by  the  handle." 

"Some  one  did,"  I  insisted,  and  we  went 
away. 

My  friend  was  again  becoming  nervous,  and 
my  remark  on  the  significant  observation  of 
the  silver  having  been  handled  did  no  good. 

I  said:  "Fernwood,  if  you  let  yourself  go 
to  pieces  in  this  way,  you  will  end  by  making 
a  lot  of  idiots  think  you  are  really  a  criminal. 
We  are  only  at  the  beginning  of  an  affair 
which  will  need  cool  heads  and  intelligent  man 
agement,  and  now  you  are  behaving  like  a 
scared  child  or  an  hysterical  girl.  You  have 
really  nothing  to  fear." 

"Do  you  think  that?  I  do  not  mind  telling 
you  that  what  I  fear  is  that  I  may  come  to  be 
lieve  I — I  killed  him.  It  does  look  so  likely. 
I  have  heard  of  such  cases,  and  even  now — I — " 

"Good  gracious!  Do  you  want  to  make 
me  regret  that  I  mean  to  see  this  thing 
through  ?" 

He  came  over  to  where  I  stood  and  put  a 
hand  on  my  shoulder.  He  said:  "You  must 

203 


THE  MIND-READER 

forgive  me,  and  you  will,  if  you  think  of  the 
hopeless  misery  of  my  condition." 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "Now  I  must  go.  We 
will  lunch  and  dine  at  a  little  Italian  restaurant 
near  by ;  but,  my  dear  fellow,  I  want  you  clear 
of  head,  because  we  are  to  have  a  talk  to-night 
with  South.  I  sent  for  him." 

"I  will  try,"  he  said,  and  appeared  relieved 
by  the  prospect  of  something  being  done.  I 
went  to  my  work,  uneasy  and  feeling  that  we 
were  in  deep  water. 

When  we  went  out  to  lunch,  I  saw  South, 
the  detective,  come  out  of  a  tobacco  shop  oppo 
site  the  library.  I  said  to  the  Captain,  "Wait 
a  moment,"  and  crossing  over,  said  to  South, 
"Are  you  watching  Captain  Fernwood?" 

He  said,  "Yes.  It  is  very  stupid,  but  those 
are  my  orders/' 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you  know  me.  He  will  ap 
pear  when  wanted.  You  may  as  well  go  home, 
but  turn  up  at  nine  to-night.  I  want  to  ask 
your  advice  about  him." 

He  whistled  low.  "Well,  that's  funny. 
We  are  on  the  other  side." 

204 


THE  MIND-READER 

'There  is  no  other  side." 

"Yes;  that  Hospital  Board.  They  say  he 
has  told  them  over  and  over  they  were  to  get 
most  of  his  money." 

"Well,  we  will  talk  it  over." 

"Very  good,"  he  said,  and  sauntered  up  the 
street,  while  I  rejoined  Fern  wood. 

To  my  surprise,  he  said :  "I  saw  that  man 
the  day  but  one  after — after — my  uncle  died. 
Is  he  watching  me?" 

I  thought  better  to  say  yes,  frankly. 

"It 's  a  strange  thing  to  know.  He  had  bet 
ter  take  care." 

"Wait  a  little,"  I  said.  "We  will  get  him 
on  our  side,"  and  we  went  on  to  lunch,  the 
Captain  now  and  then  looking  back  suspi 
ciously. 

A  little  before  nine  that  night  I  asked  him 
to  go  into  my  bedroom  and  wait  there  until  I 
called  him.  He  asked  for  a  newspaper.  I 
knew  better  than  to  give  him  one.  The  dailies 
were  still  wildly  discussing  the  famous  case  and 
the  stolen  will. 

"This  will  do,"  he  said,  and  taking  a  book 
205 


THE  MIND-READER 

from  my  shelves,  went  into  the  bedroom  while 
I  waited  for  South,  my  notes  on  the  table  at 
my  side. 

When  he  came  in,  I  said:  "Sit  down,  take 
a  cigar,  and  run  over  these  memoranda." — I 
had  written  them  out. — "And  speak  low  when 
you  talk.  The  Captain  is  in  my  bedroom. 
Now  read  this." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  laid  down  the  notes, 
and  I  said,  "Now,  how  does  this  look  to  you?" 

"Well,  first,  let  me  say  I  have  left  the  police, 
and  am  with  the  firm  of  Frost,  the  detective 
agents.  They  are  employed  by  that  hospital 
to  find  out  where  that  will  is,  if  it  is  at  all. 
The  murder  does  not  concern  them  except  in 
a  way.  They  want  that  will.  You  see,  the 
old  man,  White,  told  them  all  about  it.  They 
think  your  friend  has  it  or  had  it." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "the  fools  are  not  all  dead, 
but  I  want  your  opinion — your  theory,  if  you 
have  one." 

"Well,  Dr.  Alston,  I  have  none.  I  have 
talked  to  two  of  that  jury,  and  they  think  your 
friend  killed  the  man,  or  at  least  struck  him 

206 


THE  MIND-READER 

and  stole  the  will,  but  I  have  n't  much  respect 
for  coroner's  juries.  Their  notion  is  that  he 
broke  open  the  desk  and  disordered  the  room 
so  as  to  simulate  a  burglary.  When  I  men 
tioned  that  he  had  declined  the  old  man's  con 
ditions,  and  at  the  inquest  had  called  attention 
to  the  absence  of  the  will,  that  seemed  to  them 
only  a  clever  dodge,  and  one  said  a  burglar 
would  never  have  left  the  silver.  That  did 
seem  queer  to  me.  However,  I  am  to  be  al 
lowed  to  go  over  the  house  to-morrow,  and  I 
want  to  see  the  old  man's  servant." 

"Ask  to  see  the  silver,  South."  And  there 
upon  I  told  him  what  I  had  seen.  It  did  not 
impress  him. 

He  said:  "There  was,  I  hear,  no  breaking 
in.  If  burglars  entered,  it  was  easy  to  do  so 
by  the  unlocked  front  door." 

This  was  exactly  what  I  wanted,  and  agree 
ing,  I  added:  "Now,  I  want  you  to  see  the 
Captain.  I  will  call  him." 

There  was  no  need,  for,  as  I  spoke,  the  door 
opened,  and  he  entered,  a  book  in  his  hand. 
He  threw  it  on  the  table,  and  as  South  rose, 

207 


THE  MIND-READER 

he  sprang  forward,  and  catching  him  by  the 
throat,  shook  him  with  savage  violence,  cry 
ing,  "So  you  are  set  to  watch  me,  you  hound !" 

The  big  detective  stood  still  as  I  caught 
Fernwood's  arm,  and  said,  "Are  you  insane?" 
He  let  go  his  grip  and  turned. 

"No.  I  am  sane  enough,  and  no  man  shall 
follow  me  as  this  man  has  done." 

I  pushed  him  down  into  a  chair,  saying: 
"Mr.  South  is  here  to  help  us.  He  is  only 
obeying  orders;  but  he  does  not  believe  you 
guilty." 

"Is  that  so,  Mr.  South?  Let  him  say  so. 
He 's  got  to  say  so." 

I  knew  South  too  well  to  think  he  would 
lie,  and  I  was  immensely  relieved  when  he  said 
quietly,  "I  believe,  sir,  that  you  are  an  inno 
cent  man." 

"Thank  God  for  that !  That  accursed  book 
upset  me." 

I  glanced  at  it.  What  evil  fate  had  made 
him  choose  it?  It  was  "Eugene  Aram." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you  owe  Mr.  South  an 
apology." 

208 


THE  MIND-READER 

"He  has  it,  and  my  gratitude,"  said  Fern- 
wood,  in  his  courteous  way.  "I  am  sorry, 
but—" 

"Let  us  talk,"  I  said. 

"No,"  returned  South,  readjusting  his  neck 
tie;  "not  now.  To-morrow,  perhaps,  after  I 
have  seen  the  house.  Only  one  question: 
Did  you  often  leave  without  the  woman  follow 
ing  you  to  lock  the  front  door  ?" 

"Yes ;  because  commonly  I  was  late  and  she 
in  bed.  I  spoke  of  it  once  or  twice,  but  my 
uncle  said  no  burglars  ever  came  in  from  the 
front." 

"No;  that  is  true  as  a  rule.  We  shall  pull 
through,  Captain." 

My  friend  looked  up  and  said:  "It  is  an 
unspeakable  relief  to  hear  you  say  that.  If  the 
will  is  never  found,  I  cannot,  I  could  not,  take 
the  money;  or  if  I  did  take  his  fortune,  and 
gave  it  to  the  hospital,  that  would  be  sure  to 
be  looked  upon  as  the  act  of  a  repentant  man. 
I  have  one  hope,  and  it  is  that  whoever  stole 
the  will  did  so  in  order  to  sell  it  to  the  hospital." 

"Or  to  you,"  said  South. 
209 


THE  MIND-READER 

"I  see.     To  give  me  the  chance  to  burn  it." 

"That's  about  it,  sir.  Well,  good-night, 
and  I  just  want  to  say  this.  I  was  n't  clear 
about  this  matter.  Now  I  am.  Keep  cool, 
and  don't  read  the  papers." 

Said  Fern  wood,  with  his  pleasant  smile,  "Let 
me  again  ask  you  to  excuse  my  violence." 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  big  man,  "it  was  just 
that  settled  the  matter  for  me.  If  you  had 
been  guilty,  you  would  not  have  come  down  on 
me  like  that." 

"I  should  not." 

I  said,  "Argumentum  ad  hominem" 

"What's that?"  said  South. 

I  failed  to  be  able  to  put  it  more  clearly,  and 
for  the  first  time  we  all  three  laughed.  I  went 
down-stairs  and  talked  to  South  for  half  an 
hour  about  Fernwood  and  his  well-known  act 
of  venturing  out  under  a  heavy  fire,  putting  a 
tourniquet  on  Major  Warde,  and  carrying  him 
into  our  lines,  although  himself  slightly 
wounded. 

"That 's  the  scar  on  his  cheek." 

"Yes." 

2IO 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Well,  well,  men  are  queer,  and  that  man  to 
be  broke  up  this  way !" 

"And  would  not  you  be  1" 

"I  might.  There  really  are  several  kinds 
of  courage.  He  was  upset  a  bit  by  the  jury 
inquest,  and  the  average  reporter  was  sure  to 
consider  that  an  evidence  of  crime." 

When  I  went  up-stairs  I  quietly  opened  my 
bedroom  door.  Fernwood  was  on  his  knees. 
I  closed  the  door  and  sat  down  with  my  pipe, 
with  thankful  hope  in  my  mind. 

I  administered  my  remedy  of  the  bicycle  next 
day,  and  left  my  friend  after  breakfast,  asking 
him  to  make  a  copy  of  a  long  list  of  new  books 
to  be  bought,  which  otherwise,  I  assured  him  I 
should  have  to  make  myself.  He  seemed  glad 
to  be  of  use  to  me,  and  thenceforward  I  man 
aged  to  keep  him  busy  and  at  times  even  inter 
ested. 

When  again  I  saw  South,  he  said,  "I  have 
asked  to  be  relieved  from  further  service  of  the 
hospital  trustees  and  am  now  entirely  at  your 
command."  I  thanked  him.  "Well,  sir,"  he 
said,  "you  are  right:  the  silver  had  been 

211 


THE  MIND-READER 

handled.  The  mug — what  she  calls  the  tank 
ard — had  been  picked  up  from  the  sideboard 
and  left  on  the  chair.  They  meant  to  re 
turn  and  take  it  all.  The  man's  death  scared 
them,  and  as  they  had  the  money — seven  hun 
dred  and  fifty,  was  it  ? — a  good  haul/' 

"And  the  will,"  I  said. 

"Yes.  That  is  the  interesting  part.  Talk 
about  that  later.  Then  they  left  as  they  came. 
We  are  only  at  the  beginning  of  a  very  diffi 
cult  business.  The  next  move  must  come  from 
the  burglars,  and  they  won't  hurry.  But  with 
what  I  can  now  say  to  the  chief  there  will  be 
no  arrest  of  your  friend ;  but  he  will  have  to  be 
patient.  After  I  see  the  chief  and  my  own 
people,  I  shall  be  able  to  advise  you  further. 
Now,  I  don't  want  to  talk  or  to  let  this  evidence 
get  out.  The  thieves  read  the  papers  indus 
triously,  and  they  know  of  the  general  police 
belief  that  the  Captain  took  the  will,  and  so 
at  present  they  are  at  ease  and  can  wait." 

Then  he  added,  turning  to  Fernwood: 
"The  house  was  entered  by  the  front  door. 

212 


THE  MIND-READER 

They  saw  and  meant  to  take  the  silver."  He 
went  on  to  state  the  case  as  it  now  stood. 

Meanwhile  the  Captain  sat  moveless,  in 
tensely  attentive.  When  South  ended,  he 
said:  "I  see  it  now.  It  was  not  alone  my 
uncle's  death  that  sent  them  away  in  a  hurry. 
The  man  who  saw  that  will  knew  that  he  had 
a  prize.  The  silver  became  of  small  moment." 

I  heard  him  with  surprise  and  relief.  Here 
was  the  quiet,  reasoning  man  I  first  knew, 
acute,  intelligent,  himself  again. 

South  had  only  affirmative  comment,  and 
left  me  to  advise  my  friend  to  be  patient,  as 
now  we  had  to  play  a  waiting  game. 

Fernwood  had,  of  course,  seen  Miss  Mus- 
grave  often,  and  now  I  advised  him  to  go  in 
the  evening,  and  in  confidence  to  tell  her  that 
we  were  on  the  track  of  the  burglars. 

Still,  I  was  far  from  being  at  ease.  I  was 
at  the  end  of  my  mental  resources,  and  was 
merely  anxious  as  to  the  way  I  should  keep  him 
quiet.  What  with  the  bicycle  rides  in  the 
country,  when  Miss  Musgrave  went  with  us, 

213 


THE  MIND-READER 

and  throwing  upon  him  work  in  connection 
with  the  books  of  our  library,  I  succeeded  as 
well  as  one  could  expect  to  succeed  with  a  sen 
sitive  man  over  whom  hung  so  dark  a  cloud. 
He  insisted,  however,  on  learning  whenever 
anything  new  turned  up,  and  I,  on  my  part, 
agreed  to  this  on  condition  of  complete  submis- 
siveness  to  my  orders. 

To  keep  faith  with  him,  as  soon  as  I  heard 
again  from  South,  I  asked  him  to  meet  us  at 
my  room.  This  was  a  day  or  two  later.  At 
this  time  South  said:  'There  have  been  sev 
eral  long  consultations  with  the  chief  of  the 
city  detective  force,  and  here  is  where  we  stand. 
My  own  people  are  sure  I  am  right.  The  chief 
is  still  in  doubt.  The  trustees  of  the  hospital 
want  to  advertise  and  offer  a  reward  for  the 
return  of  the  will ;  but  some  of  these  old  gentle 
men  say  it  is  useless,  because  you  have  it. 
They  ended  by  agreeing  to  wait.  You,  too, 
must  wait." 

"If,"  said  Fernwood,  thoughtfully,  "I  were 
to  claim  the  estate  on  the  final  failure  to  recover 
the  will  and  were  to  turn  it  over  to  them,  I 

214 


THE  MIND-READER 

should  remain  forever  under  the  shadow  of  a 
tragedy  which  would  rest  unexplained/' 

"That  seems  to  be  on  your  mind,  Captain/' 
said  the  detective. 

"It  is  not  for  a  moment  to  be  thought  of," 
said  I.  "What  else,  Mr.  South?" 

"Well,  sir,  you  know  about  criminals.  Gen 
erally,  in  case  of  an  unusual  burglary,  we  can 
be  pretty  sure  of  the  group  in  which  we  may 
find  the  man.  According  to  Dr.  Alston's  no 
tion,  here  must  have  been  a  burglar  intelligent 
enough  to  see  the  great  value  of  this  will,  which 
must  have  been  short  and  simple  and  decisive 
enough  to  content  him  with  his  prize.  Usu 
ally  such  a  man  has  as  his  companion  some  one 
who  is  not  a  swell  burglar,  and  it  is  here  they 
are  apt  to  get  trapped.  The  second  fellow 
doesn't  get  enough,  or  he  drinks  and  talks. 
It  is  just  here  we  are  at  a  loss.  There  are  sev 
eral  we  might  suspect,  but  some  of  them  are  in 
jail  or  have  disappeared.  We  have  simply  got 
to  wait." 

And  wait  we  did  until,  despite  my  care, 
Fernwood  was  looking  worried  and  was  no 

215 


THE  MIND-READER 

longer  manageable.  He  told  Miss  Musgrave, 
to  her  horror,  that  he  now  believed  he  had 
killed  his  uncle,  and  as  to  the  will,  he  did  n't 
know.  He  must  have  taken  it.  I  became 
alarmed,  and  meanwhile  a  lawyer  had  failed  to 
help  us.  We  had  only  to  wait.  I  was  in  de 
spair.  I  had  heard  of  such  cases,  and  saw 
that  my  friend  was  on  the  way  to  become  in 
sane.  Once  he  declared  that  he  meant  to  con 
fess. 

"If,"  said  South,  "he  judges  others  by  him 
self,  the  man  who  has  the  will  is  going  to  fish 
first  for  the  Captain.  If  not,  he  will  try  the 
hospital  trustees,  and  that 's  all  there  is  of  it 
just  now.  He  's  got  first  to  divide  that  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  and  spend  his  share." 

The  days  which  went  by  without  further  in 
cident  must  have  been  for  Fernwood  the  most 
trying  time  of  his  life,  but  what  with  work — 
and  I  kept  him  busy — and  exercise,  and  above 
all  the  quiet  wholesomeness  of  Miss  Mus- 
grave's  influence,  we  lived  it  out.  His  im 
patience  under  continued  suspicion  and  the 
difficulty  in  keeping  the  trustees  tranquil  re- 

216 


THE  MIND-READER 

suited  at  last  in  a  determination  on  the  part  of 
Fernwood  to  free  himself  from  any  relation  to 
the  great  estate  involved.  I  was  now,  at  last, 
so  alarmed  at  his  condition,  that  I  reluctantly 
consented.  A  legal  paper  was  drawn  up  by 
which  he,  Fernwood,  conveyed  to  the  hospital 
trustees  his  entire  interest  in  his  uncle's  prop 
erty,  conditioned  upon  their  paying  over  to  the 
housekeeper  ten  thousand  dollars. 

When  this  should  be  made  known,  the  will 
would  become  of  far  less  moment.  I  did  not 
like  it,  hut  he  was  so  uneasy  that  I  began  to 
have  grave  fears  lest  his  reason  might  give 
way.  Indeed,  as  we  walked  to  the  office  of  the 
president  of  the  board,  he  said  to  me:  "I  am 
again  haunted  by  the  idea  that  perhaps  I  really 
did  that  thing.  If  I  am  not  relieved  in  some 
way  I  shall  lose  my  mind  or  say  I  did  it.  I 
am  not  sure." 

"I  hope,"  said  I,  laughing,  "if  you  lose  your 
mind,  that  in  that  case  I  shall  find  it." 

"Oh,  don't  joke  about  it,"  he  returned,  and 
we  went  up-stairs  to  the  office  of  the  president. 

Mr.  Daingerfield,  the  old  gentleman  with 
217 


THE  MIND-READER 

the  shiny  bald  head,  which  apparently  attracted 
the  early  flies,  asked  us  to  sit  down,  put  on  his 
spectacles,  and  industriously  beat  off  the  flies 
with  a  large  palm-leaf  fan. 

"Well,"  he  said  rather  gruffly,  "you  want 
to  see  me  ?  I  supposed  you  would." 

Fernwood  was  at  his  best,  gentle,  courteous, 
and  quiet. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  to  propose  to 
you  an  arrangement  with  your  board  which  I 
am  sure — " 

To  my  surprise  the  old  man  stood  up,  and, 
interrupting  him,  exclaimed:  "We  will  make 
no  compromise.  None.  I  am  amazed  that 
you  should  for  a  moment  think  it  possible." 

"Had  you  not  better  hear  first  what  I  have  to 
say?" 

"No,  sir.  I  have  no  desire  to  deal  with  you 
at  all.  We  expected  some  advance  of  this 
nature." 

"Of  what  nature?" 

"No  matter  what.  A  will  is  lost  by  which 
the  poor  would  have  profited  and  the  man  who, 

218 


THE  MIND-READER 

if  it  never  turns  up,  will  get  the  estate  under 
circumstances  which — " 

Fernwood  rose,  but,  to  my  satisfaction,  quiet 
and  cool.  He  unrolled  the  deed  as  he  said: 
"I  am  a  gentleman  placed  by  disastrous  cir 
cumstances  under  suspicion  of  murder  and 
theft.  Even  the  most  unkindly  man  should, 
in  the  total  absence  of  proof,  feel  for  me.  You, 
an  old  man,  simply  insult  me  without  even  hav 
ing  the  patience  and  charity  to  listen.  The 
deed  I  hold  conveys  to  your  board  my  entire 
interest  in  my  late  uncle's  estate  and  leaves  me 
without  a  penny/' 

As  he  spoke,  he  tore  the  paper  to  pieces,  and 
was  about  to  cast  it  into  the  waste-basket,  but 
smiled  and  crammed  it  into  his  pocket,  saying: 
"I  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  explain  this 
matter  to  your  board.  I  shall  have  the  pleas 
ure  to  let  them  hear  of  it  by  letter." 

The  old  man  cried  out:  "But  I  could  not 
have  imagined — sit  down.  Sit  down,  sir !" 

"No,"  said  the  Captain,  and  we  left  Mr. 
Daingerfield  standing  forgetful  of  the  atten- 

221 


THE  MIND-READER 

live  flies  and  exclaiming,  "Good  gracious !"  and 
apparently  confused  out  of  possibility  of  other 
utterance. 

"Well,"  I  said  to  Fernwood,  "are  you  satis 
fied?" 

"Entirely." 

It  did  him  good,  and  afforded  him  the  only 
bit  of  humorous  incident  which  this  too  tragic 
affair  supplied. 

That  afternoon  I  saw  Miss  Musgrave.  She 
sat  with  Fernwood  a  while  in  my  sitting-room 
and  then  came  down  to  the  delivery-office  and 
asked  for  me.  I  took  her  into  my  private 
room,  where  she  began  to  question  me  about 
what  would  become  of  the  estate  if  Fernwood 
should  decline  to  claim  it.  He  had  already 
made  the  same  inquiry.  I  said  I  did  not  know, 
but  that  there  was  a  book — a  law  book  on  wills 
— which  would  tell  us.  I  would  get  it.  It  was 
one  of  the  issues  of  this  complicated  affair  in 
which  I  too  felt  some  interest. 

"Oddly  enough,"  the  attendant  said,  "a  gen 
tleman  asked  for  that  book  half  an  hour  ago. 

222 


THE  MIND-READER 

He  is  over  there  at  the  table  under  the  win 
dows." 

It  was  near  by,  and  I  glanced  at  the  reader. 
He  was,  as  I  remember,  a  neatly  clad  man  in 
black  clothes,  and  because  of  being  clean 
shaven,  somehow  reminded  me  of  a  Catholic 
priest.  He  was  making  notes  in  a  little  book. 
I  noticed  that  he  wore  in  a  black  neck-scarf  a 
large  diamond  or  paste  pin.  I  had  a  moment 
of  wonder,  because  it  struck  a  note  of  differ 
ence  from  his  lean  face  and  the  rather  simple 
costume. 

Miss  Musgrave  and  I  got  little  information 
out  of  the  book,  and  as  we  were  in  agreement 
as  regarded  too  constant,  direct,  and  useless 
discussion  of  our  troubles,  we  fell  into  other 
talk.  This  came  of  my  remarking  upon  the 
way  in  which  a  crime  or  any  other  such  matter 
called  upon  the  resources  of  a  library.  Sev 
eral  persons  had  recently  busied  themselves  in 
the  library  with  this  question  of  unclaimed 
estates  and  lost  wills. 

The  day  after,  a  typewritten  letter  from 
223 


THE  MIND-READER 

Boston  addressed  to  me  made  me  summon 
South  at  once.     He  read  it  aloud. 

"  Dear  Sir :  I  hear  a  certain  document  interests 
you.  Answer  in  next  Tuesday's  '  New  York  Herald/ 
and  say  '  Yes,  it  does.  A.  B.'  Then  you  will  hear 
further.  X." 

"But  why  me  ?"  said  I. 

"Well,  that  beats  me,"  replied  South.  "Of 
course  this  was  purposely  mailed  in  Boston. 
He  should  have  asked  for  an  answer  there. 
Very  likely  he  is  here.  He  has  spent  that 
seven  hundred  and  fifty." 

"What  do  you  advise?"  said  I.  "It  is  get 
ting  more  and  more  strange." 

"Answer  him  as  he  says,  and  then  wait. 
To-night  I  am  going  to  take  a  look  at  some 
of  the  resorts  of  the  upper  class  of  burglars. 
Of  course  it  is  often  done,  but  the  men  lately 
concerned  in  big  robberies  keep  dark  for  a 
while.  Sometimes  the  hangers-on  of  the  swell 
rascals  get  picked  up  in  these  dens.  The  upper 
set,  and  there  are  n't  many,  put  on  style  and 
go  to  second-rate  hotels  or  live  very  quietly  out 

224 


THE  MIND-READER 

of  town.  However,  I  mean  to  take  a  look. 
Like  to  go  with  me?  Gentleman  from  Chi 
cago  wanting  to  see  the  city." 

I  said:     "Yes.     I  should  like  to  go." 

Fernwood  declined,  as  I  supposed  he  would. 

I  have  no  desire  to  describe  the  haunts  of 
those  I  saw  that  evening.  They  had  in 
terest  for  an  old  student  of  the  class  which  has 
only  one  reason  for  resisting  temptation,  and 
again,  as  often  before,  I  was  struck  with  the 
exterior  order  and,  in  one  resort,  with  the 
cleanliness  of  the  saloon.  I  was  amused,  too, 
at  South's  classification.  "It  is  of  no  use,  or 
generally  of  no  use,"  he  said,  "to  look  for  the 
boss  of  a  big  job  here."  This  he  said  as  we 
came  out  of  the  worst  of  the  dens.  "Those 
fellows  are  the  common  lot,  sneak  thieves  and 
so  on.  They  are  always  poor,  hand-to-mouth 
fellows." 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "The  uncertain  day- 
laborers  of  crime.  Sad  analogy,"  I  murmured 
as  we  moved  away. 

South  was  like  a  botanist  in  the  country. 
He  knew  where  to  look  for  this  weed  or  that, 

225 


THE  MIND-READER 

and  spoke,  like  the  very  decent  fellow  he  was, 
of  the  women  who,  themselves  degraded,  help 
to  degrade. 

It  was  eleven  at  night,  when,  having  made 
nothing  by  our  quest,  we  went  to  get  a  mug  of 
beer  at  one  of  the  well-known  cafes  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  city.  South,  as  we  sat,  began  to 
exercise  curiosity  on  those  about  us  with  now 
and  then  some  shrewd  comment.  Of  a  sudden 
he  set  down  his  half -raised  mug  and  said: 
"Don't  appear  to  look,  but  get  a  quick  look  at 
the  man  at  the  third  table — the  one  nearest  the 
window.  He  is  one  of  our  most  skilled  bur 
glars.  He  has  been  in  and  out  of  jail  three 
times,  and  is  as  likely  as  not  to — " 

"By  George!"  I  exclaimed,  "I  know  him. 
He  was  at  the  library  recently,  and  wanted  to 
consult  a  law  book  about  wills." 

"What  ?  What  ?"  said  South.  "Is  that  so  ? 
Come,  let  us  go.  I  know  the  rascal  well.  He 
goes  by  the  name  of  Tom  Swing." 

I  followed  him  without  a  word.  When  on 
the  pavement  he  said  to  a  cabman,  "I  take  you; 
wait,"  and  drew  me  aside.  In  a  few  moments 

226 


THE  MIND-READER 

our  man  came  out,  smoking  a  cigar.  He 
looked  at  his  watch  and  walked  swiftly  away. 

"Come,"  said  South,  "get  in."  He  said  to 
the  cabman:  "You  see  that  man?  Follow 
him  at  a  walk.  Don't  lose  him.  Five  dollars 
if  you  keep  him  in  sight  till  I  stop  you,  and 
don't  get  too  near." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  the  man^  and  we  drove 
away. 


227 


THE  streets  into  which  we  turned  were  al 
most  deserted,  and  the  task  was  not  diffi 
cult.  "If,"  said  South,  "we  tracked  him  on 
foot  we  might  very  easily  alarm  him.  You 
saw  him  look  about  him  as  he  came  out.  He  is 
on  his  guard.  Now  he  will  never  dream  of  be 
ing  shadowed  by  a  cab  unless  he  is  in  one." 

This  quiet  pursuit  lasted  some  ten  minutes. 
We  were  again  among  the  slums.  Our  prey 
turned  a  corner.  South  stopped  the  cab,  paid 
the  driver,  and  saying,  "It  was  cheap,"  paused 
a  moment,  put  his  police  badge  on  his  coat,  and 
said  to  me:  "Our  man  is,  I  guess,  going  to 
Joe  McCoy's.  I  did  not  take  you  there.  I 
only  want  to  see  who  Tom  will  talk  to.  It  is 
a  mere  chance." 

As  we  turned  the  corner,  the  man  was  gone. 
"All  right,"  said  South,  and  I  followed  him 
into  a  drinking-shop.  He  nodded  to  the  bar- 

228 


THE  MIND-READER 

keeper  and  said  cheerfully:     "No  one  wanted, 
Bill;  gent  from  Chicago  to  see  the  town." 

The  room  at  the  back  was  thick  with  smoke, 
and  two  thirds  full  of  as  rough  a  lot  as  I  have 
ever  seen.  As  we  came  in,  our  sudden 
entrance  seemed  to  disturb  them.  The  voices 
dropped,  and  South  at  once  said :  "Good  even 
ing,  boys.  No  one  wanted  this  time;  gent 
from  Chicago,  seeing  the  town.  Hello,  Char 
ley!"  This  to  a  ruffian  near  the  door.  He 
spoke  to  several,  and  last  to  me.  "This  is  Tom 
Swing,  Mr.  Paxton.  An  ornament  to  his  pro 
fession."  Mr.  Swing  got  up,  and  said  very 
quietly  in  a  level  voice,  and  a  not  unpleasant 
one :  "I  see  you  still  like  your  little  joke,  Mr. 
South;  but  I  am  out  of  the  business.  The 
ladies  of  the  prison  society  have  got  me  a  job." 

South  encouraged  this  return  to  morality, 
and  we  sat  down,  calling  for  lager  beer. 

South  had  his  back  to  Tom.  I  was  facing 
him  some  twelve  feet  away.  The  noise  of 
voices  rose.  A  drunken  group  in  a  corner 
trolled  a  thieves'  catch,  and  it  was  easy  to  talk 
unheard  by  our  neighbors. 

231 


THE  MIND-READER 

South  said  to  me:  "The  man  with  Tom  is 
an  old  helper  of  his,  a  great  brute;  what  we 
call  a  yeggman."  He  rarely  used  thief-slang, 
and  the  word  interested  me.  He  explained: 
"It  is  the  burglar  who  uses  violence.  Swing 
never  does.  He  does  not  even  carry  a  re 
volver." 

"An  unusual,  a  rare  case." 

"Yes,  sir ;  but  the  man  is  just  that.  He  was 
a  bank  clerk  and  the  son  of  a  decent  school 
master.  Don't  watch  him  too  closely. 
What's  the  matter?  Take  care!  I  think  he 
may  have  remembered  you.  Crime  does 
sharpen  a  man's  memory." 

"But  I  must  watch  him,"  I  said.  "Talk  to 
me.  Tell  stories.  Laugh.  Do  anything." 
I  was  excited. 

"What  7s  the  matter  ?  Mind-reading  ?  Mr. 
Stevens,  at  the  library,  told  me  about  it." 

"Nonsense !"  I  said.  "I  want  to  watch  them. 
Talk!  talk!— anything!" 

I  stared  at  Tom  while  South,  puzzled,  obeyed 
my  order,  and  did  talk,  while  I  considered  with 

232 


THE  MIND-READER 

intense  attention  the  two  scamps.  I  did  not 
think  they  suspected  me  of  listening.  That,  in 
fact,  was  impossible.  The  noise  was  so  great 
that  a  policeman  looked  in  and  said  it  would  n't 
do.  Then  the  drunken  crowd  broke  up. 

Swing,  too,  rose  at  last,  nodded  to  South, 
and  went  out.  His  friend  also  rose  unsteadily 
and  left. 

"Come,"  I  said;  "an  interesting  study." 

South  besieged  me  with  eager  questions.  I 
contented  him  with  a  promise  to  talk  if  he 
would  come  home  with  me. 

When  in  my  room  I  called  Fernwood  out  of 
bed.  He  asked  what  was  the  matter.  I  said : 
"Nothing  wrong.  Dress." 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  we  sat  down  with 
our  cigars.  I  hesitated  as  I  stood  by  the  man 
tel,  amused  at  South's  eagerness,  and  foresee 
ing  with  anticipative  pleasure  the  relief  I  was 
about  to  give. 

"Mr.  South,  tell  the  Captain  how  we  found 
and  followed  Swing." 

"Ominous  name,"  said  Fernwood. 
233 


THE  MIND-READER 

When  South  had  our  man  in  the  saloon,  I 
took  up  the  story.  I  said:  "I  faced  the  two 
men,  and  I  was  near  enough — " 

"To  hear?"  said  Fernwood,  anxiously. 

"No,  not  a  word;  but  I  know  what  they 
said." 

"You  do?"  cried  South.  "I  knew  it.  Mind- 
reading." 

"Yes,"  I  said.     "I  read  their  minds." 

I  was  enjoying  the  excitement  of  South' s 
face  and  the  queer  look  of  bewilderment  on  that 
of  my  friend. 

"Good  heavens !"  he  cried.     "Do  go  on." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  gathered  enough.  They 
have  the  will ;  that  is  sure,  and  they  saw  my  re 
ply  in  the  paper." 

"Yours?"  said  Fernwood,  bewildered.  I 
had  not  told  him  of  the  letter  to  me. 

"Yes.  The  short  man  I  could  not  get  at 
quite  so  easily,  but  he  assured  Swing  'she'  was 
safe,  because  she  did  not  know  its  value.  I 
caught  bits  of  his  talk.  'Bad  thing  that,  the 
old  fellow  dying.  He  just  fell  when  you 
grabbed  at  him;  he  screamed,  and  hit  the 

234 


THE  MIND-READER 

fender  knob.'  They  are  puzzled  what  to  do 
next.  That  is  all  I  got  clearly.  There  was 
more  of  course,  but  the  noise  and  the  smoke 
distracted  my  mind.  It  requires  close  study." 

Fernwood  turned  to  South.  "For  heaven's 
sake,  let  us  end  this !  What  will  you  do  ?  Ar 
rest  them?" 

South  was  silent  a  moment.  "Why,  Cap 
tain,  the  evidence  is  good  for  us,  but  before  a 
magistrate  any  shyster  of  a  lawyer  would 
laugh  us  out  of  court." 

Fernwood  looked  the  disappointment  he  felt. 
He,  too,  was  for  a  little  silent,  and  then  said, 
smiling:  "Of  course  Dr.  Alston,  who  has  the 
acute  sense  of  some  animal  ancestor,  caught 
fragments  of  the  compromising  talk  of  these 
men — enough,  I  dare  say." 

Mr.  South  smiled  the  critical  dissent  of  the 
better-informed  mind. 

"Couldn't  of  heard,  sir.  Mind-reading  it 
was,  and  nothing  else." 

"Well,"  said  Fernwood,  "no  matter.  It  is 
all  the  artillery  we  have,  and  we  ought  to  be 
able  to  use  it." 

235 


THE  MIND-READER 

I  watched  with  an  expert's  satisfaction  the 
return  of  mental  force  in  a  man  so  lately  stum 
bling  on  the  boundary  of  insanity,  at  times  quite 
hounded  over  the  line  by  the  beliefs  of  others 
and  the  too  constant  dwelling  on  one  fatal  sub 
ject.  Now  he  was  himself  once  more,  sugges 
tive,  resourceful,  and  courageous. 

I  checked  South  with  a  lift  of  the  hand  and 
waited. 

"Suppose,"  said  the  Captain,  "you  arrest 
Sharkey,  as  you  call  him,  on  a  charge  of  mur 
der  and  burglary." 

"On  suspicion?"  said  South.  "We  can,  but 
it  will  only  scare  Swing.  We  have  no  avail 
able  evidence,  and  Sharkey  will  simply  shut  up 
like  a  clam." 

"No,"  said  I,  "he  is  the  lesser  scamp.  Jail 
bird  as  he  is,  there  is  always  a  competent  scare 
for  every  crow.  Let  me  see  him  and  tell  him 
what  I  can  make  him  believe  I  overheard.  It 
was  a  confession  and  far  plainer  than  I  have 
told  you.  Let  me  say  to  Sharkey  that  we  will 
arrest  Swing.  Why  not  even  do  that  at  once  ? 
Tell  Sharkey  he  had  better  be  first  to  confess 

236 


THE  MIND-READER 

and  get  a  chance  to  escape  the  gallows.  To 
have  incidentally  caused  death  during  a  bur 
glary,  is,  as  I  understand  it,  in  the  eye  of  the 
law,  murder." 

"Yes,"  said  South ;  "that 's  good  law.  I  will 
see  the  chief." 

"Might  work,  but  don't  mention  mind-read 
ing,  South,"  said  I. 

"Of  course  not.  He  must  think  we  over 
heard  it — bits,  you  know.  We  must  find  the 
girl,  too.  If  my  plan  works,  that  will  be  easy." 

We  had  some  further  talk,  and  South  left  us. 
When  we  were  alone,  Fernwood  came  over  to 
where  I  stood,  set  a  hand  on  each  of  my  shoul 
ders,  and  said :  "I  am  curious  as  to  what  you 
really  did  when  you  saw  those  villains.  But 
first  I  want  to  say  that  I  owe  to  you  such  a 
debt  of  gratitude  as  never  can  be  paid."  His 
eyes  filled,  and  he  sat  down,  overcome  with 
such  emotion  as  forbids  speech. 

I,  too,  was  for  a  moment  silent.  I  had 
learned  to  like  the  man  and  the  woman.  I, 
whom  the  chances  of  life  had  made  a  some 
what  lonely  man,  had  found  a  friend. 

237 


THE  MIND-READER 

I  said:  "My  dear  Fernwood,  when  I  had 
seen  you  a  few  times  I  was  strongly  attracted. 
It  is  for  me  a  great  joy  to  have  served  a  man 
I  can  completely  like  and,  without  reserve,  ap 
prove.  In  our  day  the  helpful  resources  of 
friendship  are  so  few.  Once  you  could  stand 
by  a  friend  in  battle  or  express  yourself  in 
verse.  Now  friendship  is  limited  to  small  ma 
terial  kindnesses,  to  sympathy,  to  money  help 
at  need ;  and  that,  strange  to  say,  is  the  sharp 
est  test  to-day,  and  where  too  many  fail.  But 
I  am  on  a  subject  which  is  often  in  my  mind. 
Such  a  chance  as  ours  has  been,  is  happily 
rare." 

"Oh,  yours,  yours,"  said  Fernwood,  smiling 
through  tears.  "Ah,  and  my  dear  Anne.  I 
shall  leave  her  to  thank  you." 

"Well,  I  thank  heaven  that  the  chance  fell 
to  me.  You  want  to  know  how  I  got  inside 
the  counsels  of  Swing  &  Co.  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

I  laughed.  "I  shall  tell  you  when  we  are 
through  with  this  business." 

238 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Oh,  by  Jove!"  cried  Fernwood,  with  a  good 
honest  laugh,  "tell  me  now." 

"No,  not  yet.  Now  you  must  go  to  bed  and 
with  an  easy  mind.  I  want  to  put  on  paper 
what  I  gathered.  Good-night." 

The  next  afternoon  South  arrived.  Fern- 
wood  for  the  first  time  had  gone  out  alone  on 
my  bicycle. 

"We  have  Sharkey,"  said  South.  "Got  him 
easy.  The  chief  is  delighted.  The  man  is  well 
scared,  and  we  shall  have  Swing  to-night." 

In  half  an  hour  I  was  with  South  in  a  cell 
at  the  central  police  station.  Sharkey  sat  on 
the  cot,  a  sullen  brute.  He  made  no  reply  when 
South  said,  "You  are  in  a  bad  scrape  this  time." 

Then  I  began.  "I  sat  opposite  to  you  at  Mc 
Coy's.  You  talked  to  Swing  about  the  bur 
glary  and  the  death  at  Mr.  White's  house. 
You  said  the  girl  had  the  will." 

He  looked  at  me  and  made  no  comment.  I 
went  on.  "You  wanted  half  of  what  the  will 
would  bring.  Swing  said,  'One  third.'  You 
said,  'More,  more ;  too  little." 

239 


THE  MIND-READER 

He  grew  attentive.  I  saw  his  hands  open 
and  shut  uneasily.  He  was  sweating  and 
passed  a  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"Swing  said  you  were  counting  your  chick 
ens  before  they  were  hatched,  and  that  you 
were  in  liquor.  He  said  the  old  man's  death 
made  it  a  hard  job.  You  said:  'He  just 
died.  No  one  hurt  him/  ' 

Then  Sharkey  said,  "Guess  you  think  I  'm 
a  fool." 

South  caught  on  to  this  as  I  did  not  The 
man  felt  himself  clear  of  murder. 

"Stop  a  moment,"  South  said  to  me.  "Look 
here,  Sharkey.  You  scared  an  old  man,  and 
he  fell  dead,  and  don't  you  deceive  yourself. 
It  is  murder.  Swing  will  be  taken  to-night. 
He  will  tell  the  whole  of  it  to  save  his  neck. 
Come,  doctor.  The  man  is  an  idiot.  He  has 
had  the  first  chance.  Now  we  will  give  Swing 
his  turn." 

We  rose,  and  were  half  out  of  the  door 
when  Sharkey  caught  South  by  the  arm.  "I  '11 
tell/'  he  said  "Give  me  the  chance." 

240 


THE  MIND-READER 

"Well,"  said  South,  "come  to  your  senses, 
have  you?" 

Within  an  hour  we  had  his  statement  under 
oath.  It  was  simple.  They  had  watched  the 
house  for  several  nights;  knew  there  was  but 
one  servant,  an  old  woman ;  had  seen  that  there 
was  a  light  in  a  third  story  usually  put  out  be 
fore  Fernwood  left;  reasoned  that  the  front 
door  was  left  unlocked  from  within;  and  had 
easily  entered.  They  found  and  handled  the 
silver,  and  left  the  tankard  on  a  chair,  mean 
ing  to  return  for  this  spoil.  Their  plan  was 
to  tie  and  gag  the  old  man,  get  what  they  could, 
and  then  at  last  bag  the  silver.  Mr.  White 
may  have  been  awake  and  heard  them  for  he 
was  up  and  held  the  poker  in  his  hand  when 
they  came  in.  He  cried  "Murder!"  and  fell, 
striking  his  head  on  the  knob  of  the  fender. 
As  he  lay  still,  they  did  not  trouble  themselves 
to  see  if  he  were  dead,  but  by  their  lantern 
light  broke  open  the  desk  and  took  the  money. 
Then  Swing  saw  the  will,  and  tore  open  the 
envelopes.  He  read  it.  It  was  brief.  He 

241 


THE  MIND-READER 

said:  "Never  mind  the  silver.  This  is  worth 
thousands."  Sharkey  reluctantly  yielded,  and 
they  went  as  they  came  The  news  of  the 
death  alarmed  them.  Some  further  threats 
about  his  position  at  last  drew  out  full 
knowledge  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  will. 
In  the  afternoon  the  girl  was  arrested,  and 
was  easily  persuaded  to  tell  where  it  was  hid 
den — under  the  carpet  in  her  room.  It  was 
resealed  by  Fernwood's  wish  and  without  be 
ing  read  was  left  in  the  safe  in  care  of  the 
chief.  Swing  must  in  some  way  have  been 
alarmed,  for  he  was  long  sought  for  in  vain, 
but  was  at  last  arrested  in  St.  Louis. 

I  had  anxiously  waited  until  the  girl  and  the 
will  were  brought  in.  I  hurried  away  in  a 
cab  to  see  Miss  Musgrave.  I  told  her  of  the 
happy  ending  of  our  weeks  of  trial,  and  driving 
with  her  to  the  library,  sent  her  to  my  study 
that  she  might  have  the  joy  of  entirely  relieving 
her  lover's  mind. 

When,  in  half  an  hour,  I  entered  the  room, 
Miss  Musgrave  rose,  saying:  "I  want  to 
thank  our  friend,  and  how  can  I — " 

242 


THE  MIND-READER 

For  my  part,  I  was  just  a  little  embarrassed, 
as  I  always  am  by  thanks.  I  said:  "Let  us 
all  go  and  dine  together." 

"Some  quiet  place/'  said  Fernwood. 

"Yes.     Trust  me." 

I  think  no  one  of  us  has  ever  forgotten  that 
dinner.  Gay  and  glad  at  first,  the  talk  soon 
became  grave,  and  at  last  Fernwood  said:  "Is 
it  not  time,  Alston,  that  we  heard  about  the 
mind-reading?" 

"Oh,  yes !"  cried  Miss  Musgrave.  "I  am  so 
curious." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "my  sister  was  deaf  and 
dumb,  and  when  she  was  taught  lip-reading,  I 
took  it  up  and  became  very  expert.  It  may 
have  some  pretty  dangerous  uses.  I  try  not 
to  use  it.  The  temptations  it  offers  are  too 
great." 

"So  that  was  it!"  cried  Miss  Musgrave. 
"And  I  really  believed  it  to  have  been  mind- 
reading." 

"Well,  is  it  not?"  I  said. 

As  we  rose  from  the  table,  Fernwood  as 
tounded  the  young  waiter  by  saying:  "This 

243 


THE  MIND-READER 

is  a  dinner  I  shall  never  forget.  I  want  you  to 
remember  it,"  and  gave  him  a  five-dollar  note. 

I  felt  more  anger  at  old  White's  folly  than 
did  his  nephew;  but  Miss  Musgrave  said  that 
with  her  modest  income  and  the  Captain's  pay 
they  would  be  better  off  than  most  army  offi 
cers.  They  were,  in  fact,  too  happy  and  thank 
ful  to  feel  the  loss  of  what  they  had  never  had. 
I  said,  however,  that  as  under  the  will,  they 
would  get  something,  Fernwood  must  be  pres 
ent  when  it  was  presented  for  probate. 

This  took  place  two  days  later.  The  presi 
dent  of  the  hospital,  several  trustees,  and  two 
or  three  lawyers  were  present.  The  room  was 
crowded  with  reporters  and  others,  and  Mr. 
Burke  was  of  course  present. 

The  president  of  the  trust  company  which 
was  the  executor  handed  over  the  will  to  the 
registrar,  and  made  the  usual  application 
through  the  company's  legal  adviser.  The  reg 
istrar  looked  it  over,  and  then  said  quietly  to 
the  president  of  the  hospital :  "Mr.  Dainger- 
field,  I  regret  to  say  that  this  will  is  no  more 
than  waste  paper  as  far  as  concerns  the  hos- 

244 


THE  MIND-READER 

pital.  It  was  witnessed  and  signed  on  June 
first.  Mr.  White  died  July  third.  That  is 
thirty-two  days  after.  A  few  more  days  of  life 
would  have  made  good  his  gift  to  the  hospital. 
Of  course,  gentlemen,  you  all  know  the  law. 
Forty  days  must  have  elapsed.  The  estate 
goes  in  totality  to  the  heirs  at  law." 

Daingerfield  said:  "Incredible,  Mr.  Regis 
trar.  Mr.  White  was  too  good  a  business  man 
to  have  made  such  a  mistake!"  A  roar  of 
laughter  broke  out  among  the  reporters;  the 
lawyers  smiled;  Daingerfield  grew  red  with 
anger,  and  Mr.  Burke,  beside  me,  said: 
"What  a  glorious  bull!  I  have  not  lost  my 
time." 

"I  fear  that  you  will  find  me  correct,"  said 
the  registrar,  repressing  his  mirth.  "By  the 
way,  I  see  that  among  those  who  benefit  is  Doc 
tor  Alston.  A  codicil  gives  him  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars." 

I  looked  up  amazed. 

Mr.  Fernwood's  lawyer  said,  "Mr.  Regis 
trar,  unless  there  is  a  contest,  which  seems 
hardly  possible,  my  client,  Captain  Fernwood, 

245 


THE  MIND-READER 

is  the  chief  heir.  There  are  no  other  relatives 
— none;  but  this  is  I  presume  a  matter  for  the 
courts  to  decide." 

The  faces  of  Mr.  Daingerfield  and  his  friends 
must  have  pleased  my  Captain  if  he  had  cared 
to  look  at  them,  as  the  old  gentleman  broke  out : 
"We  will  fight  it  to  the  last.  It  is  a  swindle." 

Fernwood  said:  "Mr.  Daingerfield,  bad 
manners  and  an  evil  temper  lost  your  hospital 
this  estate.  Be  a  little  careful  what  you  say. 
Come,  doctor.  Good-morning,  gentlemen." 

There  was,  of  course,  no  contest,  and  in  due 
season  my  friend  was  in  possession  of  some  two 
millions. 

My  delightful  legacy  was  stated  in  a  codicil 
to  be  an  expression  of  gratitude  because  of  my 
having  saved  his  life,  and  made  him  no  charge. 

In  conclusion,  I  may  say  that  my  friends 
were  married,  and  that  Fernwood  sent  the  hos 
pital  a  check  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
Then  they  went  away  to  his  post  at  San  Fran 
cisco,  where  later  I  joined  them,  and  finally  be 
came  the  manager  of  a  productive  mine,  a  part 
of  the  White  estate. 

246 


THE  HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 


THE  HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

WHEN  after  breakfast  I  lounged  on  the 
porch  of  the  Newport  House  and  saw 
the  fog's  gray  nightcaps  drift  away  from  the 
Porcupine  Islands,  I  knew  myself  secure  of  a 
perfect  day;  a  day  with  a  character — for  in 
deed  September  weather  at  Bar  Harbor  leaves 
one  with  remembrance  of  sunshine  warm 
enough  to  flatter  the  aging  year  with  summer 
dreams,  and  of  shade  cool  enough  to  remind 
one  that  the  festal  days  of  the  year's  life  are 
over.  To  my  regret  this  was  the  last  of  my 
holiday  on  the  happy  island.  I  meant  it  to  be 
memorable,  and  had  planned  it  with  such  care 
as  the  gourmet  in  the  story  gave  to  his  last 
dinner  on  earth.  I  meant  to  walk  in  the  morn 
ing,  to  sail  alone  in  the  afternoon,  and  return 
to  dine  where  one  should  dine  in  order  to  end 

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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

perfectly  a  day  without  a  break  in  its  happi 
ness. 

I  carried  a  mood  of  entire  satisfaction  into 
the  afternoon,  when  I  stood  on  Captain  Con 
ner's  slip  at  Bar  Harbor  and  felt  the  whole 
some  northwest  wind's  promise  of  the  delight 
of  a  brisk  sail.  I  was  about  to  step  into  my 
skiff  in  order  to  go  out  to  where  the  cat-boat 
was  moored,  when  I  heard  behind  me,  "I  say, 
Afton,  w-want  a  c-crew?" 

I  knew  the  voice  too  well.  My  dream  of 
a  lonely  sail  was  gone.  I  turned  and  saw  Tom 
Westway  coming  ponderous  over  the  float, 
which  rocked  under  the  weight  of  a  rotund, 
short,  middle-aged  man,  clad  in  faultless  white 
flannel,  a  straw  hat  with  a  red  ribbon  shading 
his  large,  ruddy,  clean  shaven  face.  There 
was  now  as  always  something  oddly  impressive 
in  the  changeless  gravity  of  the  man.  He 
never  seemed  depressed  or  excited,  and  ap 
peared  to  be  so  wanting  in  alertness  of  mind 
that  his  success  in  the  speculations  of  the  grain 
market  was  as  surprising  to  me  as  to  others. 

Now  he  remarked  as  he  stood  by  my  side, 
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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"Good  thing  I  c-came.  You  'd  have  had  to 
s-sail  alone.  Knew  you  'd  w-want  a  c-crew." 
I  did  not,  but  to  say  no  to  the  best  natured 
fellow  I  knew  was  quite  beyond  me.  I  did  not 
doubt  the  honesty  of  his  belief  that  his  coming 
was  to  relieve  my  solitude,  since  to  be  alone 
was  for  Tom  himself  a  serious  discomfort,  al 
though  why  I  never  could  say,  since  he  was 
like  some  domestic  animals  which  are  unhappy 
without  human  company  but  have  no  need  of 
human  conversation.  Man's  craving  for  talk 
varies.  Tom  had  none.  Not  even  the  bitter 
of  gossip  could  provoke  an  appetite.  Indeed 
he  transacted  the  business  of  life  with  fewer 
words  than  anybody  I  can  recall.  Someone, 
years  ago,  seeing  him  at  the  club,  serene,  fat, 
contented  and  silent,  his  arms  crossed  on  his 
ample  stomach,  called  him  the  club  Joss.  And 
now,  on  the  approach  of  his  tranquil  largeness 
and  good-natured  assurance  of  welcome,  I 
knew  that,  although  I  never  more  surely  de 
sired  to  be  alone,  I  could  not  with  decency  de 
cline  his  offer.  There  seemed  to  me,  for  a  mo 
ment  contemplating  escape,  some  vague  cruelty 
15  251 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

in  refusing  the  company  of  a  man  who  stam 
mered.  I  smiled  at  the  thought  and  at  the 
quickly  added  reflection  that  a  fat  man  who 
stammered  made  some  mysteriously  larger  ap 
peal  to  my  good-nature.  My  reflection  would 
have  offered  the  over-analytic  novelist  occasion 
for  a  page  of  psychological  comment,  with  the 
usual  doubt  which  stands  for  a  conclusion. 

"All  right,  Tom,"  I  said  sweetly.  "Get  in," 
adding  something  concerning  the  uncertainties 
of  such  as  go  down  to  the  sea  in  cat-boats. 

Tom,  pleased  to  escape  the  solitude  of  self, 
merely  murmured  dislocated  thanks  and  care 
fully  got  his  bulky  person  into  the  skiff,  which 
I  was  steadying  to  counterbalance  his  weight. 
When,  however,  we  were  safe  in  the  cat-boat, 
free  of  the  mooring,  and  the  sail  up,  he  began 
to  ask  me,  with  intervals  of  silence,  how  far  I 
was  going,  and  to  desire  some  assurance  of  re 
turn  in  time  for  dinner.  When  he  learned 
with  whom  I  was  to  dine  at  Cromwell's  Cove, 
he  seemed,  and  I  think  with  reason,  to  feel 
more  secure. 

As  we  sped  out  between  Bar  Island  and  the 
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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

Porcupines  into  the  open  bay,  he  soon  became 
too  uncomfortably  busy  in  keeping  his  place 
as  ballast  on  the  windward  gunwale  to  attend 
to  any  other  mental  business.  He  bit  hard  on 
his  pipe  stem  and  now  and  then  exclaimed, 
"G-Great  Scott!"  when  the  boat  lay  over. 
In  fact,  as  the  wind  rose  in  perilous  gusts  and 
played  tricks  with  the  boom,  I  fancy  he  may 
have  felt  that  a  lonesome  grain  broker  might 
pay  too  dearly  for  society.  At  last  I  saw  that 
his  pipe  was  out  and  that  he  was  unaware  of 
it.  This  was  too  real  an  expression  of  dis 
comfort  not  to  touch  me,  and  although  my 
hands  were  full  with  the  viciousness  of  the 
wind  I  began  to  talk  to  him,  with  now  and 
then  an  eye  to  the  southeast  where,  over  Green 
Mountain  and  Sargent,  a  low-lying  range  of 
clouds  was  changing  from  minute  to  minute. 
In  the  afternoon  light  the  early  autumn  yel 
lows  gave  the  mountains  an  appearance  of  be 
ing  powdered  with  gold  dust.  I  spoke  of  it  to 
Tom,  who  said,  after  a  reflective  pause, 
"That 's  so."  Then  I  gave  him  out  of  my 
musings  something  better  to  see  what  he  would 

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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

do  with  it.  I  got  only  brief  replies,  usually  a 
repetition  of  my  queries  in  some  slightly  varied 
form  of  assent. 

At  last  I  said,  "When  a  man  is  in  the  autumn 
of  life,  he  makes  wild  efforts  to  resist  decay, 
but  here  are  these  great  forests  fading  with  no 
effort  to  stay  the  march  of  time.  It  seems 
strange  to  me ;  and  to  think  how  we  poor  devils 
fight,  when  our  fate  is  just  as  inevitable." 
What  I  thus  offered  was  no  way  remarkable 
except  for  the  comment  it  provoked. 

For  a  moment  the  wind  held  steady,  and, 
more  at  ease,  Tom  considered  his  pipe  to  see  if 
it  were  alive,  and  then  remarked,  "Y-Yes.  It 
does.  It  goes  on  and  on,  just  like  the  s-slump 
in  the  wheat  m-market  in  '91.  No  f -fellow 
could  stop  it,  and — " 

There  was  something  exasperating  in  this 
contribution  to  the  possibilities  of  human 
thought.  What  more  there  was  I  never 
knew,  for  just  then  the  wind  and  a  careless 
hand  on  the  tiller  of  a  sudden  tipped  the  boat 
so  that  we  took  in  a  little  water,  and  Tom 
evolved  profane  generalizations. 

254 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

I  supposed  the  talk  to  have  come  to  a  close, 
but  to  my  surprise  Tom  rallied,  and  after  a 
slight  search  in  his  mind,  said  with  the  con 
sciousness  of  being  valuably  productive,  "It 's 
a  g-good  thing  there  are  no  m-middle-aged 
women  in  the  g-grain  market." 

When  I  asked,  "Why  middle-aged?"  Tom, 
refreshed  by  my  want  of  intelligent  apprehen 
sion,  replied,  "Why,  d-don't  you  see?  Most 
any  fellow  c-could  see  that — autumn  and  all 
that."  What  he  meant  I  do  not  know;  per 
haps  he  did  not. 

Just  past  Badley's  Point  I  concluded  to  get 
about  for  the  sail  home,  since  now  we  had  run 
far  to  the  westward  up  Frenchman's  Bay. 
I  was  on  the  point  of  getting  about  when 
I  realized  that  I  was  too  late.  The  wind 
was  failing  and  the  dark  summer  storm  long 
brewing  over  Sargent  and  the  Bubbles  was 
coming  up  from  the  southeast  with  unexpected 
speed.  I  said  nothing  but  held  my  course  un 
til  I  had  put  the  boat  through  the  drawbridge, 
just  opened  for  a  small  sloop.  Then,  at  last, 
Tom  began  to  gather  the  bitter  fruit  of  a  crav- 

255 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

ing  for  company,  and  desired  to  know  when 
we  might  calculate  upon  being  at  Bar  Harbor. 

Some  mild  sense  of  satisfaction  was  mine  as, 
with  thought  of  my  spoiled  afternoon,  I  said, 
"There  will  be  no  dinner  for  us  to-day,  Tom. 
The  norther  is  dying  out.  If  we  try  to  return, 
we  shall  be  caught  in  Frenchman's  Bay  by  the 
storm  you  see  to  the  southward.  I  don't  mind 
a  ducking — we  are  in  for  that — but  I  won't 
risk  drowning  you." 

Tom  said  it  was  pretty  bad,  but  took  the 
tiller  while  I  double-reefed.  As  I  resumed  my 
place,  the  north  wind  ceased  with  an  abrupt 
ness  I  did  not  like,  and  for  a  minute  there  was 
a  dead  calm.  The  water  took  on  a  leaden  tint, 
and  the  fast  coming  cloud  masses  of  a  dull 
greenish  hue  were  aglow  now  and  then  with 
grim  javelins  of  violet  light. 

I  saw  that  Tom  was  more  and  more  uneasy. 
He  crouched  a  little  as  the  lightning  flared, 
and  said  with  a  sorry  attempt  to  look  the 
courage  he  did  not  feel,  "R-rather  a  scrape, 
Af ton,  is  n't  it  ?  G-great  Scott !  That  was 
c-close."  As  the  thunder  followed  instant  on 

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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

the  flash,  his  shoulders  rose  and  gave  him  the 
appearance  of  a  turtle  retreating  into  the  se 
curity  of  its  shell. 

As  it  blew  harder,  I  felt  that  to  be  caught 
even  in  the  half  shelter  of  the  narrows 
of  Western  Bay  by  the  fury  of  wind  out 
of  yonder  blackness  was  not  to  be  risked. 
Overhead  every  storm  signal  was  set,  and  I 
knew  that  we  were  about  to  encounter  some 
thing  unusual.  The  north  wind  came  again 
in  puffs  and  for  a  time  helped  my  purpose  of 
securing  a  shelter.  Then  of  a  sudden  the 
wind  changed  and  we  felt  the  first  irregular 
gusts  of  the  coming  storm.  Leaving  Tom  the 
tiller  with  a  word  of  warning,  I  stood  up  on 
the  bow  to  pilot  him  into  a  place  of  security. 
Although  for  him  it  was  alarming,  and  the 
prospect  of  wet  clothes  and  no  dinner  tragic,  I 
was  rejoicing  in  the  magnificence  of  the  scene 
overhead  and  in  the  interest  of  what  I  saw 
around  me.  The  rising  southeast  wind  was  tak 
ing  little  nips  at  the  black  surface,  and  the  large 
rain  drops  were  making  brief,  bell-like  bub 
bles,  followed  instantly  by  the  upleap  of  dark 

257 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

spikes  of  water.  To  westward,  still  in  a  clear 
sky,  the  setting  sun  touched  with  gold  every 
leaping  ripple  and  turned  to  lustrous  bronze 
the  far  seen  summits  of  the  Gouldsboro  Hills 
on  the  mainland.  It  was  really  an  amazing 
spectacle  with  something  dramatic  in  the  con 
trasts  it  offered. 

I  said  at  last,  "Is  n't  it  glorious?" 

Tom  said  it  would  be  if  he  were  n't  so  cold. 
I  myself  felt  the  chill  of  the  September  even 
ing  and  too,  in  the  swift  coming  wind,  the 
colder  air  from  the  mountain  tops.  Presently 
it  would  be  far  worse. 

Now  and  then,  as  the  gale  gathered  force 
and  the  rain  grew  heavier,  I  heard  Tom's  ex 
clamations.  His  mind  was  on  his  dinner,  as 
to  which  my  conscience  was  quite  at  rest.  At 
last,  as  a  terrible  zigzag  of  light  flashed  over 
head,  Tom  cried  out,  "Oh,  don't  stand  by  that 
m-mast  when  you  're  g-getting  wet.  It 's 
dangerous." 

"Getting  wet?  I  am  wet,"  I  said  laughing. 
"Run  her  in  there,  Tom.  Put  her  head  up. 
So.  That  will  do."  I  let  fall  the  anchor, 

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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

dropped  and  secured  the  sail,  and  sat  down  in 
the  partial  shelter  of  Prettymarsh  Harbor. 

"I  w-won't  stay  here,"  protested  Tom. 
"I  'm  wet." 

"All  right.  We  will  go  ashore.  Pull  up 
the  skiff.  We  will  make  for  that  house  on  the 
hill.  I  should  stand  by  my  boat  if  I  were 
alone." 

"Well,  I  w-won't." 

"All  right,"  I  said. 

It  was  now  raining  harder,  and  in  a  min 
ute  I  was  wet  to  the  skin,  and  the  wind  so 
furious  that  it  was  a  hard  pull  to  the  beach. 
Tom  was  in  as  sorry  a  plight.  "Cheer  up,  old 
man,"  I  said.  "We  will  go  up  to  the  house 
and  make  a  good  fire." 

"And  get  some  g-grub,"  said  Tom. 
"What  is  the  place?  It  looks  shut  up." 

"Prettymarsh  is  over  yonder,"  I  replied, 
"and  no  one  lives  here.  We  '11  get  in  some 
how." 

"Good  heavens!"  ejaculated  Tom,  amid  a 
solid  downfall  of  rain. 

"What's  wrong?     Any  wetter?" 

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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"I  c-could  n't  be  w-wetter.  There  '11  be 
thirteen  at  table !  My  aunt  will  never  forgive 
me.  I  was  to  dine  with  her." 

"Can't  be  helped,"  said  I,  and  strode  on 
doggedly  behind  him,  contemplating  the  pon 
derous  form,  the  water-soaked  flannels,  now  a 
dull  gray,  the  limp  dripping  straw  hat  giving 
an  air  of  singular  dejection  to  his  figure. 

It  was  all  very  sad  for  a  man  who  divided 
his  time  systematically  between  the  grain  ex 
change,  bridge  at  the  club,  and  an  afternoon  on 
the  speedway.  Adventure,  bodily  risks  and 
the  unusual  had  no  place  in  his  ordered  life 
and  for  him  no  charm.  I  began  to  pity  him 
as  he  walked  on,  growling  out  his  usual  brief 
sentences.  Even  ordinary  talk  seemed  to  be 
an  effort  requiring  pauses  and  some  slow 
marshaling  of  his  mental  forces. 

As  with  difficulty  facing  the  wind  we  topped 
the  hill,  I  wiped  the  rain  from  my  eyes  for  a 
survey  of  the  house,  which  before  to-day  I  had 
seen  only  at  a  distance,  but  always  with  a  cer 
tain  interested  curiosity.  It  is  visible  every- 
wHere  from  the  upper  water  beyond  French- 

260 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

man's  Bay  as  well  as  from  Prettymarsh  on  the 
landward  side,  and  is  in  fact  the  most  notable 
dwelling  in  this  the  flatter  part  of  Mt.  Desert 
Island.  I  saw  it  better  now,  a  house  of  dull 
ruddy  color  with  a  rather  small  doorway  in 
front  and  two  large  windows  on  each  side  of 
the  entrance.  Some  tradition  of  hospitality 
and  of  former  importance  was  indicated  by  the 
great  size  of  the  house  and  by  the  large  chim 
neys  over  both  gables.  As  we  drew  near,  I 
observed  that  the  paling  fence  was  in  ruin, 
and  what  had  once  been  modest  flower  beds 
was  overgrown  with  golden  rod  and  asters. 
The  house,  if  showing  no  sign  of  recent  habi 
tation,  was  not  dilapidated. 

Two  fine  red-oaks  stood  just  outside  of  the 
fence.  Under  one  of  these  we  took  shelter, 
and,  as  Tom  said,  took  stock  of  an  unpromis 
ing  situation.  Then,  with  the  manner  of  a 
man  revealing  a  secret,  Tom  said,  "Tell  you 
something,  Afton.  The  w-water  is  running 
down  the  b-back  of  my  neck  worse  than  it 


was." 


"Me  too/'  I  said,  laughing. 
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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"Is  that  so?"  he  returned,  as  if  surprised. 
"What  a  house!" 

It  was  hardly  descriptive,  but  meant,  as  I 
soon  learned,  that  it  was  absurdly  big  for  a 
farmhouse. 

"How  to  get  in,  Tom.  It  seems  pretty  se 
curely  shut  up,"  said  I,  as  we  stood,  the  wind 
somewhat  broken  for  us  by  the  house.  The 
day  was  slowly  darkening,  while  the  storm  not 
only  gave  no  sign  of  ending,  but  in  fact  was 
every  minute  increasing  in  violence. 

"Let 's  go  round  it  and  see,"  said  Tom. 

As  we  turned  the  corner,  the  gray  lashes  of 
rain  driven  by  a  good  thirty-mile  gale  seemed 
nearly  level  and  stung  as  they  struck  the  face. 
Before  us  were  well  tilled  fields,  and  beyond 
the  house  a  barn  in  ruin.  At  the  back  of  the 
house  we  looked  in  vain  for  an  easy  way  of  en 
trance.  The  shutters  were  solid  and  tightly 
closed.  There  were  none  above  the  first  story. 

Tom  went  up  the  steps  and  tried  the  door  in 
vain.  Leaning  against  the  door  he  turned  to 
make  this  clear  to  me.  "It 's  no  use,"  he  roared, 

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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

for  what  with  a  fury  of  rain  and  wind  beating 
on  the  house  I  hardly  heard  him.  Then  there 
was  an  abrupt  increase  in  the  violence  of  the 
gale.  A  big  maple  behind  me  went  down  with 
a  loud  crack  and  clatter  of  broken  branches, 
and  the  door  of  the  house  was  blown  open, 
slamming  inward  so  that  the  wind  and  Tom 
burst  into  the  emptiness  with  a  whooping 
sound  like  a  huge,  deep  inbreath. 

"Great  Scott!"  cried  Tom.  "Thought  a 
f-fellow  opened  it  behind  me." 

"He  did,"  I  laughed,  and  darted  by  him 
through  the  solid  cascade  from  the  eaves. 
"Come  in,"  I  cried,  for  the  wind-driven  rain 
was  flooding  the  hall.  "Quick,"  I  cried, 
"and  get  a  big  stone."  And  this  being 
fetched,  closing  the  door  we  set  the  stone 
against  it,  and  were  thus  left  in  a  darkened 
hall. 

I  had  been  much  on  the  sea,  but  as  wild  a 
storm  as  this  was  a  notable  event  in  my  life. 
There  was  comic  contrast  in  what  Tom  said. 

"I  'm  glad  the  w-wind  b-burgled  for  us. 
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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

We  did  n't  have  to  break  in  after  all."  This 
reflection  seemed  to  comfort  a  conservative 
commercial  citizen  facing  the  unusual. 

I  felt  it  imperative  that  we  should  find 
warmth,  since  the  early  chilliness  of  a  Septem 
ber  evening  had  set  in  and  we  were  water- 
soaked  to  the  skin.  It  was  dark  in  the  hall 
and  I  struck  match  after  match  until,  thus 
aided,  I  found  a  closed  door  opening  from  the 
hall  into  an  eastern  room. 

I  groped  my  way  to  a  window,  where  I 
raised  the  sash  with  difficulty  and  threw  back 
the  shutters.  There  was  no  more  than  light 
enough  from  the  outside  to  show  me,  as  I 
turned  from  the  window,  that  we  were  in  a 
room  which  had  the  appearance  of  being  really 
vast.  For  a  moment  this  remained  unex 
plained  until  I  saw  in  the  fading  light  of  the 
storm-shortened  day  what  caused  this  sense 
of  space  without  distinct  boundaries.  Walls, 
floor,  and  the  heavy  rafters  overhead  were 
black  from  the  smoke  of  what  seemed  to  have 
been  a  fire  once  kindled  in  the  middle  of  the 

264 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

floor  of  the  room.  A  deeply  burned  place  was 
left  where  the  fire  had  burned  half-way 
through  the  floor.  The  blackening  of  the 
room  helped  in  the  twilight  to  give  an  ap 
pearance  of  indistinct  size  and  of  lack  of  limit 
ing  boundaries.  It  was  mysteriously  impres 
sive  even  after  the  delusory  effect  was  ex 
plained,  and  was  not  quite  pleasant. 

If  I  was  puzzled,  Tom  was  not.  "W-well," 
he  exclaimed,  "m-must  have  been  a  t-tramp  did 
that.  I  w-wonder  why  it  did  n't  all  g-go." 

I  made  no  reply.  I  did  not  accept  his  view 
of  the  matter  nor  yet  know  why  it  was  not  ob 
viously  as  he  put  it.  Then  after  a  pause  he 
brought  out  another  theory.  "That 's  it ! 
Someone  m-might  have  w-wanted  the  in 
surance."  And  still  I  was  silent.  An  effort 
had  been  made  long  ago  to  destroy  the  house, 
but  why?  Tom's  conjectures  were  reason 
able. 

I  shook  my  head  as  I  went  over  to  the  win 
dow  and  rubbing  away  the  blackened  spider- 
webs  looked  through  a  deluge  of  rain  which 

265 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

beat  on  the  roof  with  a  murmurous  humming 
sound,  or  swept  over  it  in  gusts  like  the  patter 
of  numberless  small  feet. 

"By  George!"  I  cried,  "There  goes  the 
'Sylvia' !"  As  the  lightning  flashed  I  made 
out  the  boat,  dimly  seen,  bottom  up,  adrift 
across  the  water. 

When  I  announced  to  Tom  that  we  were 
mildly  marooned,  he  said  that  he  saw  nothing 
mild  about  it,  but  that  he  would  not  mind  if 
he  had  a  fire  and  dinner  and  a  good  bed. 
When  I  agreed  with  him,  he  went  on  to  say 
that  was  n't  the  worst  of  it.  There  was  Aunt 
Martha. 

"Well?"  I  queried. 

"She  has  n't  got  any  head  for  arithmetic, 
but  she  's  got  enough  to  know  there  's  thir 
teen  at  table.  I  can  see  her  c-counting  them." 
I  was  well  aware  that  Tom  had  expectations 
which  I  was  sure  made  his  commercial  con 
science  sensitive  in  matters  concerning  Aunt 
Martha. 

"Perhaps,"  I  returned,  laughing,  "that  fated 
thirteenth  may  be  Aunt  Martha." 

266 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"I  n-n-never  th-th-thought  of  that,"  said 
Tom  frankly.  I  trust  that  he  was  measurably 
consoled. 

"Well/'  I  added,  "it  can't  be  helped.  Come. 
Let  us  see  what  there  is  in  this  place  to  make 
us  comfortable." 

His  small  resources  in  the  language  of  de 
spair  were  seemingly  at  an  end.  As  I  spoke 
he  was  standing  still  in  wet  dismay,  all  adrip, 
dolefully  regarding  the  growing  pool  of  water 
on  the  floor  about  him. 

"Come  along,"  I  repeated.  "There  is  noth 
ing  here.  It  can't  be  worse  anywhere  else." 

Thus  exhorted,  he  followed  my  steps  into 
the  hall  which  ran  through  the  house  from 
north  to  south. 

As  we  struck  matches — for  now,  at  least 
within  the  house,  it  was  quite  dark — we  saw 
small  evidence  of  the  smoke,  and  I  concluded 
that  whoever  kindled  the  fire  had  closed  the 
doors  and  windows  of  the  room  and  may  thus 
have  smothered  the  blaze.  As  we  lighted  our 
brief-lived  little  vesta  torches,  we  saw  that  the 
hall  was  wide  and  that  on  the  western  side 
16  267 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

was  another  room.  As  we  passed  across  it  I 
observed  no  relics  of  former  habitation  ex 
cept  a  crane  in  the  chimney  place,  which  made 
me  think  it  had  been  the  kitchen. 

The  solitude  of  the  place  and  the  sense  of  its 
having  once  been  what  now  it  was  not  trou 
bled  me.  People  had  lived  here,  but  were  here 
no  longer.  That  was  commonplace  enough, 
and  yet  now,  interpreted  by  a  mood,  it  became 
uncommonplace.  There  has  always  been  to 
me  something  impressive  in  an  empty  house, 
something  which  sets  me  to  thinking. 

It  was  useless  to  invite  Tom  to  share  my 
thoughts,  and  perhaps  after  all  there  was  not 
enough  in  them  to  make  division  worth  while. 
I  stood  looking  about  me,  now  seeing,  now 
blind,  as  the  wax  matches  flared  and  went  out. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  was  Tom  who 
showed  the  first  signal  of  any  sense  of  the  un 
usual.  In  an  interval  of  darkness  he  clutched 
my  arm  and  said  in  the  low  voice  of  one 
startled,  "D-did  you  hear  that?  Hush! 
Listen!" 

268 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"Hear  what?" 

"A  clock.  There!  You  didn't  hear.  It 
struck  eight." 

"Struck  nonsense.  I  wish  there  were  a 
clock." 

"Great  heavens,  and  you  didn't  hear  that? 
Someone  laughed." 

"Someone  laughed,  did  they?  I  wish  they 
had.  We  are  alone,  you  and  I,  host  and  guest 
if  you  like.  You  may  choose  which  you  will 
be.  That  wind  has  groaned  and  howled  and 
whistled  in  the  last  half-hour,  and  you  heard 
it  laugh,  old  man.  Well,  why  not?" 

"Damn  it,"  he  said,  "wind  doesn't  strike 
eight." 

"An  old  house  and  a  forty-mile  gale  make  a 
queer  orchestra." 

"Oh,  stuff!"  he  broke  in  rudely,  for  him  an 
amazing  thing.  "I  am  not  a  child.  There 's 
something  wrong  in  this  house." 

"There  is  n't  anything  in  it  wrong  or  right. 
Let  us  have  a  look  at  the  cellar.  There  '11  be 
wood  there  if  anywhere.  I  am  chilled  to  the 

269 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

bones.  We  must  have  a  fire.  And  don't 
waste  matches  that  way,  Tom.  Mine  are 
nearly  all  gone/' 

This  I  said  because  as  we  stood  in  the  gloom 
Tom  was  flashing  the  small  wax  lights  and  un 
easily  turning  from  side  to  side.  As  I  spoke, 
he  said,  "It  's  c-coming." 

"What,"  I  broke  in.  The  queer  ways  of  my 
stout  friend  were  vexing  me  a  little  and  per 
plexing  me  more.  Well  used  to  the  pause 
before  his  mental  mechanism  could  become 
vocally  expressive,  I  waited,  making  no  com 
ment.  I  heard  him  move  as  he  said,  "I  think 
you  are  getting  n-nervous." 

"I—I?     Nervous?" 

"Yes.  I  only  w-wanted  to  say  that  storm 
would  be  c-coming  back  from  the  northwest. 
That  was  all.  I  don't  know  what 's  the  matter 
with  you/' 

This  was  not  like  him.  He  was  suffering 
from  an  attack  of  abnormal  acuteness  of  per 
ception.  Of  a  sudden  Tom  did  an  unusual 
thing,  and  when  he  said  or  did  an  unusual 
thing,  it  disturbed  those  who  knew  him  well  as 

270 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

with  a  sense  of  shock.  He  cried,  "I  shall  not 
stay  here  a  m-minute,"  and  ran  by  me  and  out 
into  the  hall. 

When  I  overtook  him,  I  made  him  out  by 
my  flashed  match  leaning  against  the  stair- 
rail.  I  said,  "What  the  deuce  is  the  matter, 
Tom?" 

"N-nothing.  It  was  so  close  in  there." 
He  was  wiping  his  forehead. 

"Oh,  is  that  all !  You  acted  just  the  way  my 
terrier  Susan  did  last  year.  I  was  looking 
over  an  empty  house.  She  sat  down  to  howl 
in  one  of  the  rooms  and  then  ran  out  as  if 
possessed." 

"Hang  Susan!  I'm  cold  and  wet.  Let's 
get  a  fire." 

We  found  the  cellar  door  beneath  the  stair 
way.  Striking  a  match  we  went  down  and 
found  ourselves  in  a  damp,  earth-paved  space 
under  the  west  half  of  the  house.  It  was  here 
quite  dark.  Tom  took  one  side  of  the  cellar 
and  I  the  other.  There  was  no  wood.  Guard 
ing  my  feeble  taper,  I  came  to  a  corner.  There 
lay  on  the  ground  a  rusty  spade  with  a  broken 

271 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

handle  and  a  mattock.  As  I  looked  idly  at 
the  worn  tools,  Tom  called  out,  "Come  here, 
Afton,  that 's  q-queer." 

I  turned  at  his  summons  and  found  him 
standing  over  the  wreck  of  an  old-fashioned 
mahogany  cradle.  Neither  of  us  spoke  for  a 
moment.  I  had  a  sense  of  awe  and  of  unseen 
human  nearness.  Except  the  canopy  and 
rockers,  the  cradle  was  in  large  fragments. 
It  must  have  been  broken  very  long  ago,  for  in 
places  it  was  rotten,  a  rare  thing  to  see  in  ma 
hogany. 

"It  has  been  sm-'smashed  with  an  axe,"  said 
Tom.  "Queer  to  want  to  sm-smash  a 
ch-child's  cr-cradle.  Who  c-could  have  done 
that?" 

"Who  indeed?"  I  murmured. 

"What's  that?"  said  Tom. 

I  looked  down  and  saw  the  remnants  of  a 
mouldered,  mouse-gnawed  little  slipper — a 
child's.  I  picked  it  up  and  turned  it  over  and 
laid  it  in  the  broken  cradle  as  Tom  said, 
"Well,  there  's  fire-wood  at  last.  Got  to  have 

272 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

a  fire.     Can't  be  any  harm  in  b-burning  a 
b-busted  cradle." 

"Harm?  No,"  I  said,  "but  something  else." 
I  could  not  have  said  what  else.  "I  would  as 
soon  be  warmed  by  a  broken  coffin.  Let  it 
alone.  We  '11  find  something  upstairs." 

"Oh,  darn  your  sentiment.  I  'm  ch-chilled 
to  the  bone."  As  he  spoke  he  kicked  over  the 
broken  fragments  of  the  cradle. 

"Don't  do  that,"  I  said,  "I  say— don't" 
Upon  this  he  growled,  but  went  back  with  me 
to  the  hall  and  then  up  the  creaking  stair  to 
the  second  story. 

There  again  was  a  hallway  with  doors  open 
to  east  and  west,  so  that  as  we  stood  we  could 
look  to  right  and  left  into  the  dark  depths  of 
two  large  rooms.  I  chose  without  reason  the 
room  to  westward.  As  I  moved  into  it  Tom 
said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "I  w-would  n't  go  in. 
It — it 's  no  g-good,  and  it 's  so  c-cussed 
d-dark." 

"Nonsense,"  I  said,  "if  you  go  on  this  way, 
we  shall  either  see  or  think  we  see  ghosts." 

273 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"Great  Scott!     G-Ghosts?" 

I  broke  into  the  comment  of  a  laugh,  which 
brought  back  a  crude  echo  from  the  empty 
chamber.  The  notion  of  a  ghost's  appearing 
to  a  stout  member  of  the  grain  exchange  some 
how  tickled  me  into  a  brief  mood  of  whole 
some  amusement. 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  1-laugh  at,"  said 
Tom.  "I  say — light  up.  It 's  awful  here." 

I  said  no  more.  Both  struck  vestas  and  we 
moved  into  the  dark  space  before  us.  Then  I 
stood  still.  I  saw  far  away,  across  the  room, 
an  answering  glow  of  light,  and  as  if  coming 
toward  me  the  dimly-seen  form  of  a  woman, 
and  then  a  confusion  of  many  figures,  appear 
ing  to  come  out  of  the  gleaming  distance.  All 
were  indistinct;  and  now  of  a  sudden  they 
were  gone.  I  was  simply  startled. 

"Great  heavens,"  cried  Tom,  "what 's  that?" 

We  were  moving  forward  as  he  stopped,  say 
ing,  "They  came  out  of  that — that — "  I  saw 
that  our  lights  were  reflected  back  to  us  from  a 
full  length  mirror  such  as  in  France  they  call 
a  cheval  glass.  I  had  no  more  doubt  than  had 

274 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

Tom  that  these  shadowy  phantoms  came,  or 
seemed  to  come,  out  of  the  mirror,  but  to  reas 
sure  him  and  myself  I  said,  "Stuff  and  non 
sense.  You  saw  your  own  image  and  mine/' 

"I_saw  ;t_» 

"Really?" 

Now  that  we  were  nearer  I  understood  why 
we  had  seen  only  the  reflected  flash  from  the 
glass.  The  tall  side  columns  between  which 
swung  the  mirror  were  of  dark  mahogany 
worn  shabby,  and  were  crowned  with  brass 
pineapples  green  rusted.  This  bit  of  lonely 
furniture  troubled  me  more  than  the  delusion 
of  the  figures  and  set  me  to  thinking.  I  re 
membered  to  have  heard  that  the  house  had 
been  built  by  one  of  the  early  French  settlers, 
people  with  some  means  and  of  a  class  much 
above  the  rank  of  the  ordinary  English  emi 
grants. 

Alone  in  the  deserted  farmhouse,  which  was 
only  remarkable  for  its  great  size,  this  broken 
relic  of  days  of  luxury  and  refinement,  aban 
doned  as  worthless  when  the  owners  moved 
away,  affected  me  strangely.  Reflecting  upon 

275 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

my  excited  interpretation  of  the  flash  of  our 
wax  lights,  I  stood  alone  while  Tom  was  open 
ing  a  window.  What  fair  women  had  the  mir 
ror  seen;  what  gay  gowns  away  in  France; 
what  looks  of  love,  hate,  sorrow,  had  its  far- 
gone  hours  caught.  Were  they  all  there  still — 
for  nothing  is  lost — the  forms  and  faces  of  the 
dead,  generations  of  unseen  pictures. 

As  Tom's  return  broke  in  on  my  musings  I 
kept  up  my  tiny  illuminations,  and  drawing 
near  to  the  glass  began  to  examine  it  more 
closely.  One  of  the  claw-toed  legs  was 
broken  and  the  mirror  stood  awry.  There  was 
even  in  this  something  pitiful  and  appealing. 
A  crack  crossed  the  glass  from  side  to  side. 

As  Tom,  a  little  reassured,  came  near  he  an 
nounced  the  limits  of  his  wonder.  "Was  n't 
worth  t-taking.  Well  I  never !  That 's  queer. 
Don't  you  n-notice  the  smell  in  this  room — 
like — like — dead  rose  leaves?" 

"Yes.  What  is  it?  It  is  like— no — I  don't 
know  what  it  is  like.  I'll  open  the  other  win 
dow." 

276 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

As  I  raised  the  sash  the  wind  came  in  and 
blew  out  Tom's  taper.  I  heard  his  quickened 
step  across  the  room  as  he  exclaimed,  "G-good 
heavens !" 

"What?"  I  said.  Not  seeing  him  at  all  in 
the  deep  darkness  whence  came  to  me  only  a 
scared  voice,  I  put  out  a  hand  and  touched  him. 
"What  nonsense  are  you  talking?  Strike  a 
match?" 

He  did.  It  was  blown  out  instantly  as  he 
cried,  "They  came  out  of  the  mirror.  They 
came  again." 

"Who  came?  What  came?  What  did  you 
see?" 

"See?  Oh,  Lord,  they  are  all  around  me. 
Can't  you  feel  them?" 

"No,  I  can't,  you  idiot." 

"I  can't  feel  them  now,  but  it 's  awful." 

I  neither  felt  them  in  the  sense  of  contact, 
nor  saw,  nor  heard  them,  but  I  was  as  surely 
aware  in  the  deep  gloom  of  there  being  persons 
around  me  as  I  was  of  the  presence  of  West- 
way.  I  was  past  power  to  reason.  Nor  had 

277 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

I  any  sense  of  peril.  I  did  have  something 
like  awe,  such  as  one  has  in  the  face  of  great 
elemental  forces. 

Tom  was  stammering  broken  phrases  in 
pure  fear.  His  condition  rallied  me  and  I 
cried,  "Steady,  old  fellow,"  casting  an  arm  over 
his  shoulder.  "Come,"  I  said,  "there  is  no 


one." 


"I  can't— I  can't  move." 

I  felt  like  him  some  sense  of  difficulty  in 
moving.  Then  with  a  great  effort  I  went  by 
him  hearing  him  cry,  "Don't  1-leave  me." 

I  was  suddenly  aware  that  they  were  behind 
me  and  none  in  the  front.  Tom  cried  out 
again  in  a  childlike  way,  "Don't  1-leave  me." 

"Come,"  I  called,  and  at  the  door,  "a  match, 
Tom,"  and  struck  it  as  we  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  stair.  I  was  in  a  cold  sweat.  As  I  spoke 
I  got  a  look  at  Tom  in  the  red  flare  of  the 
match.  I  once  saw  a  man  who  in  rude  health 
had  come  of  a  sudden  into  the  shadow  of 
death.  So  looked  Tom,  his  face  flushed,  his 
eyes  red,  the  sweat  trickling  down  his  fore 
head,  his  jaws  dropped.  I  may  have  looked  no 

278 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

better.  I  knew  vaguely  that  we  were  in 
truders.  All  my  futile  explanatory  wrestling 
was  come  to  a  feeble  end.  I  made  believe  a 
little.  "Come,  Tom,"  I  said,  "we  are  a  pair 
of  children.  Let 's  go  down  stairs  and  wait 
till  morning/' 

I  was  relieved  when  he  said,  "N-not  I.  Not 
a  m-minute." 

As  I  made  my  proposal  I  was  again  aware 
of  what  I  hesitate  to  call  "people."  I  was  at 
once  resolute  not  to  confess  to  Tom;  and  in 
deed  my  feeling  of  terror  was  less  and  my 
sense  of  being  unwelcome  more  distinct. 

Hardly  to  my  surprise  Tom  ran  by  me  down 
the  stairs.  He  tore  open  the  hall  door,  and 
pausing  cried,  "Heavens,"  and  bounded  down 
the  outer  steps.  I  had  no  intention  of  making 
such  a  cowardly  exit.  I  went  down  stair  by 
stair.  I  was  rather  in  a  state  of  tension 
than  of  alarm.  What  I  expected  from  mo 
ment  to  moment  was  that  I  should  see  some 
one — something.  At  the  last  step  my  expec 
tant  imagination,  as  I  then  believed,  did  its 
work.  While  taking  out  my  last  two  tapers  I 

279 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

dropped  the  match  safe,  and  this  slight  mate 
rial  reminder  steadied  me,  so  that  for  an  in 
stant  I  was  again  free  from  the  despotism  of 
my  belief  that  I  was  accompanied  by  unseen 
beings.  To  recover  the  little  silver  case  I 
struck  the  vestas  on  the  wall  and,  finding  the 
box  at  my  feet,  looked  up.  I  was  aware  of  a 
woman  standing  in  the  open  doorway.  I  got 
but  a  moment's  glance  at  her,  enough  to  learn 
that  she  was  young  and  was  in  a  plain  gown 
and  carried  in  one  hand  what  was  called  in  my 
grandmother's  time  a  caleche  bonnet.  The 
face  I  saw  in  the  flare  of  the  matches  I  shall 
never  forget.  It  seemed  to  express  fear  and 
horror.  I  stood  still  a  moment  really  appalled. 
She  moved  aside  as  though  to  let  me  pass. 
The  tapers  flickered  in  the  wind  and  went  out, 
the  figure  disappeared,  and  I  drew  a  full  breath 
of  relief  in  the  open  air. 

The  storm  was  over.  The  moon  was  bril 
liant  overhead.  I  saw  Tom  seated  under  a 
tree.  "Halloa,"  he  cried.  "What  kept  you? 
A  1-little  more  and  I  should  have  gone  to  1-look 
for  you." 

280 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"Thanks,  my  dear  fellow." 

"No,  I  w-would  n't,"  said  Tom.  "Did  you, 
n-now  did  you  see  her?" 

"See  whom?"  I  asked,  quick  to  test  the  real 
ity  of  what  I  had  seen. 

"A  g-girl — a  woman.  She  had  a  queer  bon 
net  in  her  hand." 

"Yes,  I  saw  her." 

"Well,  I  say,  Afton,  we  were  n't  d-drunk  or 
dreaming.  No  one  will  believe  us."  He 
wiped  his  forehead. 

"No  one  will  believe  us;  I  should  think  not. 
Better  not  try  the  credulity  of  our  club  friends, 
Tom." 

"No  indeed,  guess  I  know  what  they  would 
say,  but  a  fellow  might  tell  a  woman." 

"What,  Miss  Martha,  your  Aunt?" 

"Yes,  perhaps."  The  thought  struck  me  as 
odd. 

"You  see  it  would  explain  things." 

"Would  it  indeed?  There  would  be  a  more 
probable  explanation.  You  left  your  hat  in 
the  house.  Better  go  and  get  it." 

"I  will  not,"  said  Tom. 
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HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

Both  were  disposed  to  be  silent,  as  we 
walked  down  the  hill  and  found  refuge  in  a 
farmhouse  near  by,  where  we  told  of  the 
wrecked  cat-boat,  but  no  more.  Early  next 
day  I  went  with  Tom  to  recover  his  hat.  I 
found  it  lying  in  the  hall.  Tom  declined  to 
enter.  We  both  felt,  or  I  at  least,  the  impro 
priety  of  making  use  of  daylight  to  aid  our  idle 
curiosity  by  a  new  inspection.  I  closed  the 
door,  and  we  walked  across  the  fields  to  re 
turn  to  the  farmhouse,  where  a  wagon  was 
ready  to  take  us  to  Bar  Harbor.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hill  we  came  upon  an  inclosure,  one  of 
the  many  pathetic  little  graveyards  to  be  found 
here  and  there  on  the  island.  A  single  large 
gray  stone  bore,  some  scarcely  legible,  names 
and  dates  in  the  first  third  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  Last  of  all  was  the  single  name, 
"Hortense,"  and  no  more. 

"Well  now,  I  w-wonder,"  said  Tom.  "Was 
that  Hortense,  the  ch-child?" 

"Hush!"  said  I,  a  faint  sense,  perhaps  a 
mere  remembrance  of  unseen  listeners  coming 

282 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

upon  me.  "What  secrets  lay  beneath  these 
stones?" 

"Now  that  child  b-bothers  me/'  said  Tom. 
"There  must  have  been  a  b-baby." 

"Hush !"  I  said.     "Come,  let  us  go." 

"W-well,  I'd  like  to  know,  Afton.  You 
don't  want  to  talk  about  it." 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"All  right,  but  I  can't  get  that  smashed 
c-cradle  out  of  my  head,  and  the  spade  and  mat 
tock  and  the  sh-shoe." 

I  stood  above  the  grave-stone  silent,  hardly 
hearing  him.  In  a  little  while  the  slow  mech 
anism  of  Tom's  brain  ground  out,  "Well,  but 
now,  s-suppose  that — " 

"Oh,  quit,"  I  cried,  and  walked  away. 

At  the  farmhouse  just  as  we  got  into  the 
wagon  Tom  said  to  the  farmer,  "Who  owns 
that  house  on  the  hill?" 

"Some  French  people  did  once.  They  went 
away  in  my  grandfather's  time." 

"Anything  queer  happen  there?"  asked  Tom. 

"Yes,  but  my  folk  would  n't  ever  talk  about 
283 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

it.  Those  French — they  sold  the  farm  and  the 
house,  but  they  kept  the  graveyard.  My 
father  said  that  when  he  was  a  boy  he  heard 
say  that  the  house  was  set  afire  the  day  they 
left,  but  it  war  n't  burnt  much — only  one  room 
damaged." 

"Yes,  we  saw  that?" 

"What!    Was  you  in  it?" 

"Yes,  we  got  in." 

The  farmer  returned,  "I  own  it  and  the 
farm,  but  my  wife  won't  live  up  there.  And 
you  was  in  it — after  dark?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"Well,  is  that  so!" 

"Good-bye,"  I  cried,  as  we  drove  away. 

Tom  was  as  usual  silent  and  I  deep  in  per 
plexed  thought.  I  reflected  that  not  always 
was  it  Tom  who  had  first  felt  these  ghostly 
presences.  Had  I  been  the  victim  of  the  crude 
imagined  phantoms  of  a  cold,  hungry,  common 
place  man  disturbed  by  physical  discomfort  and 
a  novel  environment  ?  But  then  I  remembered 
that  we  had  both  seen  the  woman.  That 
seemed  conclusive. 

284 


HOUSE  BEYOND  PRETTYMARSH 

"Give  me  a  Wight,"  said  Tom.  "That 
cradle  was  queer,  was  n't  it,  and  what  you  said 
about  c-coffins — " 

"Hush !"  I  said,  pointing  to  the  driver. 

"But  the  little  s-shoe,"  persisted  Tom. 

"Oh,  let 's  drop  it,"  I  said. 


THE  END 


285 


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